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MIRIAM; 



A DRAMATIC POEM 



AUTHOR OF "JOANNA OF NAPLES. 



Seconti IBTrition, 3^ebiseTy. 



^TYu^ • c4->^x.^^ Jff^***^ ^ ^'^ ^ ^ 



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BOSTON: 

H. P. NICHOLS AND COMPANY 

14 7, Washington Street, 

1838. 



75, 



77f 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1837, by Hilhard 
Gkay, and Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the 
District of Massachusetts. 



O ^1 



Cambridge Press; 
Metcalf, Torr)', and Ballou. 



THE REVEREND 

ALEXANDER YOUNG, 

FOKMERLY HER PASTOR, AND ALWAYS HER FRIEND 

THE FOLLOWING PAGES 

ARE RESPECTFULLY AND GRATEFULLY 

INSCRIBED 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE 



The following Sketch was begun in the summer 
of 1825, and finished in the summer ensuing. It was 
commenced in the indulgence of an early propensity 
for beguiling leisure hours by the pen, and was 
completed for the entertainment of a small circle of 
friends. The author has been repeatedly urged to 
publish it ; but as it never formed any part of her 
plan to attempt a regular tragedy, and as she was 
fully aware of its deficiencies even as a dramatic 
poem, she has allowed it to slumber in the safe ob- 
scurity of manuscript for a longer period than is 
prescribed by Horatian authority, though without 
obeying the other portion of the Roman critic's 
injunction. It is with great self-distrust that she is 
at last persuaded to submit it to the fearful ordeal of 
publication ; feeling that if neglect or severe criticism 
should decide the time spent in its composition to 
have been ill employed, she must henceforward con- 



VI PREFACE. 



scientiously resign pursuits that have till now lent a 
charm to many a solitary hour. The lapse of years 
has already cooled her imagination, and taught her 
that exertions whose tendency might be more prac- 
tical and useful, would now interest her feelings more 
deeply. She gives this early effort to the press by 
the advice of those whose judgment, — if unbiassed 
by friendship, — she must highly respect. If warned 
by the result to abstain in future from similar attempts, 
she will submit with deference to the injunction. 

It may not be unnecessary to state, that although 
the characters in the following scenes are imaginary, 
the author aimed at an illustration of the state of 
things which actually existed when Cliristianity was 
struggling, almost for life, under the persecution of 
triumphant Heathenism. 

May \st, 1837. 



PREFACE 

TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



The author of Miriam deeply regrets having 
given her early production to the press, in 1837, 
without such revision as her respect for the Public 
demanded. Many errors of carelessness, especially 
in rhythm, bore testimony to its having been writ- 
ten without a thought of publication ; and when 
at last she yielded to solicitation, and in a tempo- 
rary access of courage gave up her manuscript to 
a friend, the state of her eyesight forbade a delib- 
erate examination of its pages. It would have 
been advisable to have waited a few months; — - 
in that case, probably the work would never have 
emerged from privacy. Her dread of publication 
would have returned upon her with fresh strength, as 
she again contemplated some graver faults, which are 
so interwoven with the very texture of the poem, as 



VIU PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 

to be incurable. The voice of Criticism has pro- 
nounced upon them no censures so severe as those 
her own judgment long since whispered. Whilst 
acknowledging the justice of these strictures — in 
all instances kindly expressed — she has been in- 
duced, by the unlocked for conmiendations that have 
greeted her little work, to put forth a second edition ; 
— but this she has not done, without first attempting, 
in the following pages, to repair whatever errors were 
susceptible of correction. 

September 20th, 1838. 



MIRIAM. 



CHARACTERS. 

Thraseno, an aged Syrian — a Christian, 

Miriam, his daughter. 

EuPHAs, his son. 

Piso, a nohle Roman, a persecutor of the Christians. 

Paulus, his son. 

Christians. 

Scene — Rome. 
Time — One night, from sunset to sunrise. 



MIRIAM; 



A DRAMATIC POEM. 



SCENE I 



The Garden of Thraseno, at Rome. Thraseno^ 
Euphas. 

EUPHAS. 

My father, markest thou ? along the west 
The golden footsteps of departed day- 
Are fading fast ; in yonder dusky sky, 
Yon far and boundless vault, one lonely star 
Is faintly twinkling forth. The perfum'd air 
Of evening, sighing 'mid the drooping leaves 
And closing flowers, breathes fresh. It is the hour. 
At early nightfall were we bidden forth. 

A 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM, 



THRASENO. 



Aye ! in the dim and silent hour of dusk, 

As if to do some deed that conscious day 

Might blush to look upon, must we steal forth 

To bear the sacred dust of him we lov'd 

To its ignoble rest. In some drear cave, 

Some dark and subterraneous abode. 

Hid from the common light and air of heav'n. 

Haunt of the barking wolf or coiling snake, 

Our temples and our sepulchres must rise ; 

And there, beneath the torches' ghastly glare, 

Few, sad, and fearful must the pious meet |^ 

To raise in tones subdued the solemn hymn. 
Breathe with white, quivering lips the voice of prayer, 
And bend the trembling knee unto the One, 
The pure and living God ! and wildly start 
When sighs the breeze along the cavern's roof. 
And sways the torch-light's red and fitful blaze. 
Is this to worship thee, O God ! with thoughts 
That mount imperfect and are half weigh'd down 
By dread of earthly dangers ? with stern eyes 
Glancing around, lest unawares the foe 
Burst on our simple rites, and quench in blood 
The flame just kindling on thine altars fit. 
Meek, holy hearts ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Enter Miriam. 

EUPHAS. 

Sister ! thy cheek is pale, 
Though all day long a deep and hectic tinge 
Hath sate in brightness on one crimson'd spot, 
Lending unearthly radiance to thine eyes. 
But telling sadly of the waste within. 
Fair as thou wast, sweet sister, ne'er till late 
The rose hath glow'd upon thy pure, pale cheek ; 
And I have watch'd the strange and boding flush 
Mounting and kindling wildly there at times. 
And fading then unto a deathly white, 
Until I feel too well that not as yet 
Is it the bloom of health or happiness. 
And thy dark eyes that flash unwonted fires ! 
The glow — the flash — my sister, speak too plain 
A fever'd blood, or bosom ill at ease ! 

MIRIAM. 

Has thy young eye, my brother, learnt so well 
To read the soul's deep workings in the face ? 
And have thy sixteen summers taught thee thus 
To trace the secrets of a heart as pure. 
Though not perchance as open and as blest 
As thine ? 



4 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

THRASENO. 

My child ! how can there be a grief 
In that young heart of thine, a secret woe, 
Thy father and thy brother may not share ? 
Around thee I have mark'd the shadow fall. 
And hourly gaz'd upon thy wasting form, 
Until my heart grew sick — yet did not dream 
That other clouds than those which overhang 
Thine injur'd sect, were brooding on thy soul, 
Once the pure mirror of a father's smiles. 
Can it be so ? It is as if a cloud 
From the deep bosom of a peaceful lake 
Should rise and sullen hang upon its face, 
Hiding it from the bright and smiling skies. 
Oh say, my child, there is no secret grief. 
No canker sorrow eating at the core 
Of my sweet bud. 

MIRIAM. 

My father ! I am ill. 
A weight is on my spirits, and I feel 
The fountain of existence drying up, 
Shrinking I know not where, like waters lost 
Amid the desert sands. Nay ! grow not pale '. 
I have felt thus, and thought each secret spring 



MIEIAM—A DRAMATIC POEM, 

Of life was failing fast within me. Then 
In saddest willingness I could have died. 
There have been hours I would have quitted you, 
And all that life hath dear and beautiful, 
Without one wish to linger in its smiles : 
My summons would have call'd a weary soul 
Out of a heavy bondage. But this day 
A better hope hath dawn'd upon my mind. 
A high and pure resolve is nourish' d there, 
And even now it sheds upon my breast 
That holy peace it hath not known so long. 
This night — aye ! in a few brief hours, perchance, 
It will know calm once more — (or break at once !) 

[Aside. 

THRASENO. 

And is this all, my child ! all thou wilt trust 
To loving hearts, wherein thou art enshrin'd 
The best, most precious of all earthly things, 
And second held to nothing — save our faith ? 
And must we look on thee as on a book 
Close seal'd, yet full of hidden mysteries 
That may affect our dearest happiness ? 
Miriam ! it is not well. Dark mystery 
Doth hang round nothing pure — save God alone ! 



4 

6 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

Oh no ! it is not well. A voice within 
Full oft hath whisper'd me, " it is not well." 
And yet, 

THRASENO. 

''And yet" ! — I dare not question thee. 
A nameless fear is pressing on my soul. 

EUPHAS. 

Speak, Miriam ! seest thou not the gathering shade 
Upon our father's brow ? — oh speak ! although 
Each word in scorching flame should grave itself 
Upon the hearts that love thee with full trust. 

MIRIAJVr. 

Euphas ! what deem est thou I have to tell ? 

A wild and terrible suspicion sits 

Within thy troubled eye. And can it be 

That hearts so young and pure can dream of things 

So horrible ? My father ! yon bright stars 

Are o'er us with their quiet light ; the dews 

Are falling softly from the cloudless sky ; 

The cool and fragrant breath of evening waves 

Our rusding vine leaves, — yet not one of these 



MIEIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Is purer than the bosom of thy child. O father! 
Brother ! — ye do beheve me ? 

EUPHAS. 

Do I not ? 
I could not live, and doubt thy truth. 

THRASENO. 

I know, 
,1 know, my child, that thou art innocent, 
As native purity and steady faith 
Can make the heart of frail and erring man. 
But why should darkness hang around the steps 
Of one that loves the light ? Why wilt thou not 
Let in the beams of day upon thy soul 
To mingle with the kindred brightness there ? 

MIRIAM. 

Urge me not now. I cannot — cannot yet. 
Have I not told you that a starlike gleam 
Was rising on my darken 'd mind ? When Hope 
Shall sit upon the tossing waves of thought, 
As broods the halcyon on the troubled deep. 
Then, if my spirit be not blighted, wreck'd, 
Crush\l — by the storm, I will unfold my griefs. 
But until then — and lono^ it will not be ! — 



O MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Yet in that brief, brief time my soul must bear 
A fiercer, deadlier struggle still ! — Ye dear ones ! 
Look not ujoon me thus, but in your thoughts, 
When ye go forth unto your evening prayers. 
Oh ! bear me up to Heav'n with al] my grief. 
Pray that my holy courage may not fail. 
Mark ye my words ? 

THRASENO. 

Miriam, come with us ! 
I have beheld thee sick, and sorrowful, 
But never thus. 

MIRIAM. 

Father ! I cannot go. 

EUPHAS. 

Know'st thou last night the long-tried Stephen went 
Unto his peaceful rest ? and we this eve 
Are bidden to the humble burial. 
Shrouded in night, of him whose virtues claim'd 
At least such tribute from a christian heart. 
Sweet sister ! come thou forth with us. I know 
Thou wouldst not slight the poor remains of him 
Whose spotless life thou didst revere and love. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. \) 

MIRIAM. 

A ripe and goodly sheaf hath gently fall'n. 
Let peace be in the good man's obsequies ; 
I will not carry there a troubled soul. 

THRASENO. 

Where wouldst thou seek for peace or quietness 
If not beside the altar of thy God ? 

MIRIAM. 

Within these mighty walls of sceptred Rome 

A thousand temples rise unto her gods, 

Bearing their lofty domes unto the skies, 

Grac'd with the proudest pomp of earth ; their shrines 

Glittering with gems, their stately colonnades, 

Their dreams of genius wrought into bright forms. 

Instinct with grace and godlike majesty. 

Their ever-smoking altars, white-robed priests, 

And all the pride of gorgeous sacrifice. 

And yet these things are nought. Rome's prayers 

ascend 
To greet th' unconscious skies, in the blue void 
Lost like the floating breath of frankincense. 
And find no hearing or acceptance there. 
And yet there is an Eye that ever marks 



10 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Where its own people pay their simple vows, 
Though to the rocks, the caves, the wilderness, 
Scourg'd by a stern and ever-watchful foe ! 
There is an Ear that hears the voice of prayer 
Rising from lonely spots where Christians meet, 
Although it stir not more the sleeping air 
Than the soft waterfall, or forest breeze. 
Think'st thou, my father, this benignant God 
Will close his ear, and turn in wrath away 
From the poor sinful creature of his hand. 
Who breathes in solitude her humble prayer ? 
Think'st thou he will not hear me, should I kneel 
Here in the dust beneath his starry sky, 
And strive to raise my voiceless thoughts to Him, 
Making an altar of my broken heart ? 

THRASENO. 

He will ! it were a sin to doubt it, love. 
But yet — must then the funeral hymn arise, 
And thy melodious voice be wanting there ? 
Wilt thou alone of all our little band — 
Believe me, child, caprice and idle whim 
Are bom of selfishness, and aptly nurs'd 
In youthful minds, where sin of deeper dye 
Would shrink from entering at open gates, 
Aw'd by the light of purity within. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 11 

MIRIAM. 

That voice is chiding me ! that eye is stem ! 

EUPHAS. 

He keenly feels each pang that he inflicts. 



MIRIAM. 

Dear father ! hear me then, since I must speak ! 

This evening hath its task, a task of tears, 

And strange and spirit-crushing agony ; 

And here, ev'n here, before yon stars have set, 

It must be wrought ! Wilt thou not leave me then ? 

Eyes such as thine, my father, must not see 

The strugglings of my soul with evil things. 

But they shall see me, and in triumph too, 

When by the strength that God this night hath giv'n, 

I greet thee next in innocence and peace. 

And proudly tell thee how the battle went. 

Thou mayst not, canst not, aid me ; but alone — 

(Nay, not alone, O God !) — my spirit must 

Be disciplin'd, and wrung, and exercis'd. 

Until I am, my father, what I was, — 

A child that had no secrets for thy ear. 

Wilt thou not go without me, this one night ? 

I tell thee on this boon my peace depends : 



12 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Peace ! nay, far more ! more than all earthly peace ! 

Wild as I seem, my ske, tmst me this once. 

And when the dawn next gilds yon lofty shrine, 

Girt with its triple row of statues fair. 

It shall not greet one marble brow or cheek 

More tranquil or more pure than will be mine ! 

THRASENO. 

Then on this promise, love, will I go forth. 

Thy bud of life hath blown beneath mine eye ; 

I cannot look on thee, and dream that guile 

Or guilt is on that lip, or in that heart. 

But with a saddened soul, and with a tear 

I cannot check, my child, I thus impress 

My parting kiss upon thy brow. Farewell ! 

God reads thy mystery — though I may not. 

May He be with thee in thy solitude ! [Kxit. 

MIRIAM. 

Best, best of fathers ! — fare thee well ! thy thoughts. 

Thy prayers I know are with me still, and may 

Bestead me in the trial which draws nigh. 

My brother ! must I turn to thee with tears 

To claim the one poor boon of solitude ? 

Look ! the bright west is fading ; in the east 

The rising moon uprears her blood-red disk. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 13 

As if a distant city were in flames 
Upon yon dun horizon's utmost verge. 
Why hng'rest thou ? why lookest thou on me 
With such a fix'd, sad, monitory gaze ? 

EUPHAS. 

Sister ! I too go forth, but with a weight 
Pressing upon my heart. Would I knew more — 
Or less ! These strange and sad presentiments 
Are not the coinage of a sickly mind, 
An idle fancy, prone to dream of ill. 
Things that these eyes have seen, have left behind 
Their deep, enduring shadows on my soul. 
I could not quit thee now, were there not yet 
Within my heart an ever-springing hope, 

A confidence that hath grown slowly up, 

Ev'n from my birth around my heart-strings twined, 

Which whispers still of peace and purity. 

And lets me think of nought but holiness 

Whene'er I gaze on thee. Slowly, alas ! 

Doubt and suspicion rise in brothers' hearts. 

Thou weepest, Miriam ! wilt thou then relent. 

And let me bide with thee this dreadflil eve ? 

If its dire task be good 



14 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas ! away ! 
And quickly too ! — (Great God ! my Paulus comes — 
And should they meet !) — Oh ! I conjure thee, boy ! 
Aye, in the dust, and on my knees implore 
That thou wilt leave me instandy ! — Go now, 
If there is aught in thy poor sister's voice, — 
Her supplication — that may win one boon ! 

EUPHAS. 

Sister, I go ! — I would have warn'd thee more, 

Thou wilful one ! — but God be with thee now ! — 

Temptations that are sought — nay, look not thus ! 

But oh ! be not too bold in innocence I 

A young confiding heart at once lock'd up — 

A self-reliance that rejects such aid 

As from a loving brother's hand — Nay, then ! 

I cannot answer tears ! — Shouldst thou repent — 

Farewell ! [Exit. 

MIRIAM. 

Repent 1 not till my bleeding heart 
Forget the faith for which it yields its all ! — 
Great God ! the hour is come, and how unfit 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 15 

Is in her native weakness thy poor worm 

To meet its agony I I feel the peace, 

The holy resolution I had nurs'd, 

Dying away within me, and my prayers 

I fear — I fear — have not been heard! — Now, Father! 

God of yon sparkling heav'n ! leave me not now 

Unto the sole support of human strength ! — 

Was it my fancy ? — was it but the breeze, 

That sudden shower'd the rose leaves in its sport ? 

Oh no ! — he comes — and life seems failing me ! 

Enter Paulus. 

PAULUS. 

Chide me not, love, although the moon hath risen, 

And melts her way along those fleecy clouds, 

Climbing midway unto her zenith point. — 

My father gives this night a stately feast, 

Grac'd with the presence of Rome's proudest lords ; 

And there, within the long and lofty hall, 

O'ercanopied with silver tissue, lit 

By myriads of golden lamps, that fed 

With scented oils, pour light and fragrance round. 

Listless I lay, engarlanded with flowers, — 

And roving, in my rapt and secret thoughts, 

Hither, where thou in perfect loveliness 

Sat'st like a Dryad, 'neath the open sky, 



16 BIIRIAM — A DRAMATIC P E BI . 

Waiting thy truent lover : till at last, 

Weary and sick of all that met my gaze, 

Heedless of guests or frowning sii^e, I rose, 

And swifter than the young and untam'd steed 

Fhes with the wind across his own free plains, 

I sped to her — from whom alone I learn'd 

All that my spirit ever knew of love. 

And what that love is — Miriam, thou canst tell. 

Since for thy sake I lay my laurels down 

To wreath the myrde round these unworn brows, 

Careless of warlike fame and earth's renown. — 

But how ! thy cheeks — thy very lips — are pale ! 

By moonlight paler than yon marble nymph 

Reclining graceful o'er her streaming urn. 

Turn hither, love, and let thy Paulus read 

If grief or anger sit upon thy brow. 

Thy silence, thine averted glances, strike 

With dread unspeakable my inmost soul. 

No word of welcome — gods 1 what meaneth this ? 

Never, except in dreams, have I beheld 

Such deep and dreadful meaning in thine eye, 

Such agony upon thy quivering lip ! 

Speak, Miriam ! breathe one blessed word of life ; 

For in the middle watch of yester-night 

Even thus I saw a dim and shadowy ghost 

Standing beneath the moon's uncertain light. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 17 

So mute — SO motionless — so changed — and yet 
So like to thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

My Paulus ! 

PAULUS. 

'T is thy voice ! 
Prais'd be the gods ! it never seem'd so sweet. 
Say on ! my spirit hangs upon thy words. 
What blight hath stricken thee since last we met ? 

MIRIAM. 

A blight that is contagious, and will fall 
Perchance upon thy fairest, dearest hopes, 
With no less deadly violence than now 
It hath on mine. Paulus ! is there no word 
These lips can utter, that may make thee wish 
Eternal silence there had stamp'd her seal? 

PAULUS. 

I know not, love ! thou stardest me ! — No ! — none ! 
Unless it be of hatred — change — or death ! 
And these — it can be none of these ! 



18 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

MIRIAM. ^ 

Why not ? 

PAULUS. 

Ye gods, my Mmam ! look not on me thus ! 
My blood runs cold. " Why not," saidst thou ? Because 
Thou art too young — too good — too beautiful 
To die ; and as for change or hatred, love, 
Not till I see yon clear and starry skies 
Raining down fire and pestilence on man, 
Turning the beauteous earth whereon we stand 
Into an arid, scath'd and blackening waste, — 
Mmam — will I believe that thou canst change. 

MIRIAM. 

Oh, thou art right ! the anguish of my soul. 

My spirit's deep and rending agony. 

Tell me that though this heart may surely break, 

There is no change within it ! and through life, 

Fondly and wildly — though most hopelessly — 

With all its strong affections will it cleave 

To him for whom it nearly yielded all 

That makes life precious — peace and self-esteem. 

Friends upon earth, and hopes in heav'n above ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 19 

PAULUS. 

Mean'st thou — ^I know not what. My mind grows dark 
Amid a thousand 'wildering mazes lost. 
There is a wild and dreadful mystery - 

Ev'n in thy words of love I cannot solve. 

MIRIAM. 

Hear me — for with the holy faith that erst 

Made strong the shudd'ring patriarch's heart and hand, 

When meek below the glitt'ring knife lay stretch'd 

The boy whose smiles were sunshine to his age, 

This night I offer up a sacrifice 

Of life's best hopes to the One Living God ! 

Yes, from this night, my Paulus, never more 

Mine eyes shall look upon thy form, mine ears 

Drink in the tones of thy beloved voice. 

PAULUS. 

Ye gods ! ye cruel gods ! let me awake 
And find this but a dream ! 

MIRIAM 

Is it then said ? 
O God ! the words so fraught with bitterness 
So soon are utter' d — and thy servant lives ! — 



20 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Aye, Paulus ; ever from that hour, when first 

My spirit knew that thine was wholly lost, 

And to its superstitions wedded fast, 

Shrouded in darkness, blind to every beam 

Streaming from Zion's hill athwart the night 

That broods in horror o'er a heathen world, 

Ev'n from that hour my shudd'ring soul beheld 

A dark and fathomless abyss yawn wide 

Between us two ! and o'er it gleam'd alone 

One pale, dim-twinkling star ! the ling'ring hope 

That Grace descending from the Throne of Light 

Might fall in gentle dews upon that heart, 

And melt it into humble piety. 

Alas ! that hope hath faded ! and I see 

The fatal gulf of separation still 

Between us, love, and stretching on for aye 

Beyond the grave in which I feel that soon 

This clay with all its sorrows shall lie down. 

Union for us is none, in yonder sky : 

Then how on earth ? — so in my inmost soul, 

Nurtur'd with midnight tears, with blighted hopes, 

With silent watchings and incessant prayers, 

A holy resolution hath ta'en root. 

And in its might at last springs proudly up. 

We part, my Paulus ! not in hate, but love, 

Yielding unto a stem necessity. 



MIKIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 21 

And I along my sad, short pilgrimage, 

Will bear the memory of our sinless love, 

As mothers wear the image of the babe 

That died upon their bosom ere the world 

Had stamp'd its spodess soul with good or ill, 

Pictur'd in infant loveliness and smiles. 

Close to the heart's fond core, to be drawn forth 

Ever in solitude, and bath'd in tears. — 

But how ! with such unmanly grief struck down, 

Wither'd, thou Roman knight ! 



PAULUS. 

My brain is pierc'd ! 
Mine eyes with blindness smitten ! and mine ear 
Rings faintly with the echo of thy words ! 
Henceforth what man shall ever build his faith 
On woman's love — on woman's constancy ? — 
Maiden ! look up ! I would but gaze once more 
Upon that open brow and clear, dark eye, 
To read what aspect Perjury may wear, 
What garb of loveliness may Falsehood use, 
To lure the eye of guileless, manly love ! — 
Cruel, cold-blooded, fickle that thou art, 
Dost thou not quail beneath thy lover's eye ? 
How ! there is light within thy lofty glance, 



22 MIRIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

A flash upon thy cheek, a settled calm 
Upon thy lip and brow ! 

MIRIAM. 

Aye, even so. 
A light — a flush — a calm — not of this earth ! 
For in this hour of bitterness and woe, 
The Grace of God is falling on my soul, 
Like dews upon the with'ring grass which late 
Red scorching flames have sear'd. Again 
The consciousness of faith, of sins forgiven. 
Of wrath appeas'd, of heavy guilt thrown off. 
Sheds on my breast its long-forgotten peace, 
And shining steadfast as the noonday sun, 
Lights me along the path that duty marks. 
Lover too dearly lov'd ! a long farewell ! 
The banner'd field — the glancing spear — the shout 
That bears the victor's name unto the skies, — 
The laurell'd brow — be thine 

PAULUS. 

Maid ! — now hear me ! 
For by thine own false vows and broken faith, 
By thy deceitful lips, and dark, cold heart 



MIRIAM— A DRAMATIC POEM. 23 

MIRIAM. 

Great God, support me now ! — It cannot be 
That from my Paulus' lips such bitter words 

PAULUS. 

Such bitter words ! nay, maiden, what were thine ? 

MIRIAM. 

Mine were not spoken, love, in heat or wrath. 

But in th' uprightness of a heart that knew 

Its duty both to God and man, and sought 

Peace with its Maker — ere it broke. But thou 

PAULUS. 

And I ? — thou false one ! am not I a man ? 
A Roman too ? and is a Roman's heart 
A plaything made for girls to toy withal, 
And then to keep or idly fling away, 
As the light fancy of the moment prompts ? 
Have I then stoop'd to win thy fickle love 
From my proud pinnacle of rank and fame. 
Wasting my youth's best season on a dream, 
Forgetful of my name, my sire, my gods. 
To be thus trifled with and scorn'd at last ? 



24 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

Canst thou not learn to hate me ? 

PAULUS. 

O ye gods ! 
With what a look of calm despair 



MIRIAM. 

Aye, Paulus ! 
Never, in all my deep despondency, 
In all the hours of dark presentiment 
In which my fancy often conjur'd up 
This scene of trial — did my spirit dream 
Of bitterness like that which now thy hand 
Is pouring in my cup of life. Alas ! 
Must we then part in anger ? shall this hour, 
With harsh upbraidings marr'd 

PAULUS. 

Syren ! in vain — 
Would I could learn to hate thee ! trampling down 
The mem'ry of my fond and foolish love, 
As I would crush an adder 'neath my heel ! 
But no ! the poison rankles in my veins ; — 
It may not be ; — each look and tone of thine 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 25 

Tells me that yet thou art my bosom's queen, 
And each vain, frantic struggle only draws 
Closer around my heart the woven toils. 

[A pause. 
Miriam. ! my pride is bow'd — my wrath subdued — 
My heart attun'd e'en to thy slightest will, — 
So that thou yet wilt let me linger on. 
Hoping and dreaming that thou hat'st me not, 
Suffer'd to come at times, and sadly gaze 
Upon thy loveliness, as if thou wert 
A Dian shrin'd within her awful fane, 
Made to be look'd upon and idoliz'd. 
But in whose presence passion's lightest pulse. 
Love's gentlest whisper, were a deadly sin. 
Cast me not from thee, love ! send me not forth 
Blasted and wan into a heartless world. 
Amid its cold and glittering pageantry. 
To learn what utter loneliness of soul. 
What wordless, deep, and sick'ning misery. 
Is in the sense of unrequited love ! 

MIRIAM. 

I cannot — must not hear thee. Even now 
A chord is touched within my soul. — Great God ! 
Where is the strength thou didst vouchsafe of late ? 
Anger — reproach — were better borne than this ! 



26 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

PAULUS. 

Why should thy gentler nature thus be crush'd ? 
Is not the voice within thee far more just 
Than the harsh dictates of thy gloomy faith ? 
Thy stern and unrelenting Deity 

MIRIAM. 

Youth ! thou remindest me — thou dost blaspheme 

The God of Mercy whom I serve ; and now 

Courage and strength return at once to nerve . 

My trembling limbs, my weak and yielding soul. 

What wouldst thou have ? that I should yet drag on 

A life of dark and vile hypocrisy, 

Days full of fear and nights of vain remorse, 

And love, though sinless, yet not innocent ? 

For well I know that when thy sunny smiles 

Are on me, sternly frowning doth look down 

My Maker on our stolen interview ! 

It is a crime of dye too deep and dark 

To be wash'd out but with a life of tears, 

And penitence, and utter abstinence. 

I never will behold thy face again ! 

My soul shall be unlock'd and purified, 

And there the eyes of those that love me well 

Shall find no dark and sinful mystery, 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 27 

Shunning a tender father's scrutiny, 

And weighing down my spirit to the dust. 

Paulus ! — again — farewell 1 yet — yet in peace 
We part ! 

PAULUS. 

Maiden ! by all my perish'd hopes, 
By the o'erwhelming passion of my soul, 
By the remembrance of that fatal hour 
When first I spake to thee of love — and thought 

That thou Aye ! by the sacred gods, I swear, 

I will not yield thee thus ! In open day, 

Before my father's eyes — and bearing too 

Perchance his malediction on my head — 

Before the face of all assembled Rome, 

Bann'd though I be by all her priests and gods, — 

Thee — thee will I lead forth — my Christian bride ! 

MIRIAM. 

Aye ! sayst thou so, my Paulus ? thou art bold, 

And generous. Meet bridal will it be — 

The stake — the slow red fire — perchance the den 

Of hungry lions, gnashing with white teeth 

In savage glee at sight of thy young bride. 

Their destin'd prey ! for well thou know'st that these 

Are but the tend'rest mercies of thy sire 



28 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

To the scorn'd sect, whose lofty faith my soul 
Holds fast through torments worse than aught that these 
Can offer to the clay wherein it dwells. 

PAULUS. 

Drive me not mad ! — Nay — nay — I have not done ; 

The dark cold waters of despair rise fast, 

But have not yet o'ertopped each resting-place. 

We will go forth upon the bounding sea. 

We two alone, and chase the god of day 

O'er the broad ocean, where each eve he dips 

His blazing chariot in the western wave, 

And seek some lonely isle of peace and love, 

Where ling'ring summer dwells the livelong year, 

Wasting the music of her happy birds. 

The unpluck'd richness of her golden fruits. 

The fragrance of her blossoms o'er the land. 

And we will be the first to tread the turf. 

And raise our quiet hearth and altars there, 

And thou shalt fearless bow before the Cross, 

Praying unto what unknown God thou wilt. 

While I 

MIRIAM. 

No more, my Paulus ! it is vain. 
Why should we thus unnerve our souls with dreams. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 29 

With fancies wilder, idler far than dreams? 

Our destiny is fix'd ! the hour is come ! 

And wilt thou that a frail and trembling girl 

Should meet its anguish with a steadier soul 

Than thine, proud soldier ! — Ha 1 what hurried step 

Enter EupTias. 

EUPHAS. 

Sister ! I have escap'd — I scarce know how ; — 
Their shrieks yet ring within my thrilling ears. 
The foe hath burst upon th' unfinished rites, 

Slaughtering some, and bearing off in bonds 

Just Heav'n ! — what man is this ? 

MIRIAM. 

Oh, answer me ! 
And say our father is unhurt ! 

EUPHAS. 

Hear, Miriam ! 
I will be answer'd first ! what knight is this ? 
What doth he here ? [A pause. 

Oh grief! can this be so ? 
Would I had died among their glitt'ring swords, 
Pouring my life-blood from a thousand wounds. 
Ere my young eyes had seen this cruel shame ! 



30 BIIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Hast thou no subterfuge at hand, pale girl ? 
Well may convulsion wring thy trembling lip ! 
Were I a Roman boy — of Roman faith — 
This hand ere now — But no ! — I could not do^t ! 
Thou art too like the saint that bore us both 1 
Let me be gone. 

MIRIAM. 

Stay, stay, rash boy ! Alas — 
The thickening horrors of this awful night 
Have flung, methinks, a spell upon my soul. 
I tell thee, Euphas, thou hast far more cause, 
Proudly to clasp my breaking heart to thine, 
And bless me with a loving brother's praise, 
Than thus to stand with sad but angry eye. 
Hurling thy hasty scorn upon a brow, 
As sinless as thine own — breaking the reed 
But newly bruised — pouring coals of fire 
Upon my fresh and bleeding wounds ! — Oh, tell me, 
What hath befall'n my father ? Say he lives, 
Or let me lay my head upon thy breast. 
And die at once ! 

EUPHAS. 

He lives — the old man lives. 
See that thou kill him not. Let me pass on. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 31 

MIRIAM. 

Tell me in mercy first, — where is our sire ? 
Why art thou here alone ? 

EUPHAS. 

Hast thou no fear 
To take that honor'd name upon thy lips ! 
I meant with gentlest caution to have told 
Tidings so fraught with woe ; — 't were useless now. 
Maiden ! he is a pris'ner ! 

MIRIAM. 

Oh ! just Heav'n ! 

EUPHAS. 

They master'd him — the ruthless slaves — while I, 
Lurking securely 'mid the copsewood near, 
With shudd'ring frame and half-averted eye 
Beheld them rudely bind his wither'd hands, 
And mock his struggles impotent, and rend 
The decent silver locks upon his brow, 
While overhead the fair and quiet moon 
Sail'd on, and lent her light to deeds so foul ! 
And then I saw him meekly led away 
Amid a throng of shrieking captives, men, 



32 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Women, and babes, unto the dungeon drear, 
Whence he will never issue but to die 
A death of shame and cruel agony ! 
And yet I stirr'd not — for I deem'd there grew 
A spotless lily in the wilderness, 
Whose unprotected sweetness none but I 
Might shelter from the blast ! I fondly dream'd 
Thou wert too pure, too good, too beautiful, 
To be thus flung upon the cold wide world. 
Bearing the faith that men do trample on, 
Alone and helpless — orphan'd — brotherless ! 
And so my kind and aged parent went 
Unaided, unconsol'd. Shame on these tears ! 
Could I have dream'd the dove would shelter her 
Beneath the vulture's foul and treacherous wing ? 
Alas, my father ! sweeter far this night 
Will be thy rest within thy noisome cell, 
And more light-hearted wilt thou rise at dawn 
To front the bloody Piso 

MIRIAM. 

Ha ! dost hear ? 

PAULUS. 

I hear — and I rejoice. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 33 

EUPHAS. 

How ? ruffian ! Here ? 
Art. thou still here ? I had forgotten thee ! 
But by the strength the God of justice gives, 
In this death-grapple thou shalt surely die ! 

PAULUS. 

Art thou so hot ? Unloose my throat, vain boy 1 
Beardless, unarm'd, and nerveless as thou art, 
To risk thyself in desperate struggle thus, 
With one whose slightest effort masters thee 
As lightly as the bird of Jove bears off 

The panting dove ! 

Thou seest I harm him not. 
Thou know'st I would not hurt one glossy curl 

Upon thy brother's head. [To Euphas. 

Go ! thou art safe. 
I could not slay my bitterest enemy, 
Were he as young and beautiful as thou. 
And much less thee — in such a cause as this. 
Take thou thy life. . 

EUPHAS. 

^ I thank thee not. — Alas ! 
Thou couldst not proffer a more worthless gift. 



34 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Why should I hve ? I look upon yon girl 
Weeping her bitter grief and self-reproach 
In utter hopelessness — and pray thee take 
The life which thou hast made so valueless. 

PAULUS. 

Be still. Why pratest thou of misery 

To one on whose devoted head the gods 

Have pour'd the cup of vengeance, long deferred, 

With such a fierce and unrelenting wrath, 

That glory — riches — fame — and e'en the name 

I proudly bore — the hopes that rose this morn 

As if the fire that lit them were from heav'n — 

And life itself — are now no more to me 

Than last night's dream. 

One duty yet remains — 
And when that^s done ! — Look on these features, boy. 
Hast thou not seen me on high festal days, 
Deck'd with the tossing plume and snow-white robe, 
And bearing high my proud and knightly brow 
Amid the throng of Rome's degenerate lords ? 
Or did the abject Syrian boy ne'er dare 
To lift his looks so high ? 

EUPHAS. 

I scan thy face, 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 35 

Proud youth ! the Hghtnings leaping from thine eye 
Avouch thee of a high and haughty race. 
But of the name thou bear'st I only know 
Thy deeds have steep' d it in such infamy, 
That the pale statues of thy vaunted sires, 
Lining thy hall, will surely one day leap 
Forth from their niches in their living scorn, 
And crush thee into senseless, shapeless dust. 
I seek to know no more. 

PAULUS. 

Stripling ! beware ! 
The powerful magic hidden in that name 
Alone can bid thy father's prison open. 
I am the son of Piso. 

EUPHAS. 

Is it so ? 
Thou — the proud Paulus — lurking here by night. 
Prowling with stealthy foot around the cot. 
Where in her innocence there dwelt a maid 
Bom and baptized in the Christian faith ! 
Thou Piso's son ? Then by the God we serve. 
Thou 'rt taken in the toils. Lo ! this way come 
Guttering in arms my father's trusty friends. 
Whom I had summon'd hither but to aid 



do BIIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

The orphans with their counsel — ere I dream'd — 
Alas! 

MIRIAM. 

I hear the tread of heavy feet ! 
And 'mid the trees I see their dusky forms ! 
Fly, Paulus, fly ! 

PAULUS. 

Am I so base, think'st thou ? 

MmiAM. 

They come ! with wrath upon their lurid brows. 
In mercy, fly ! — O God ! it is too late ! 

PAULUS. 

Is it thy madness or thy love that speaks ? 

What is to thee this foolish life of mine ? 

Thou in thine hour of triumph and cold scorn 

Hast crush' d the heart wherein it beats — ev'n yet — 

Too fondly beats for thee ! Wouldst thou that death 

Should not be wholly pangless ? — Spare thy words ; 

Thou lov'st me not, — the mockery is ill-timed. 

EUPHAS. 

Hither, my friends, with speedier steps. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 37 

Enter armed Christians. 

Ye come, 
Girt with no needless weapons, to the cot 
Of him who call'd you to a gentler task. 
Lo ! in the dove's own nest the serpent coil'd ! 
So that ye ask not why he hither came, 
Do what ye list. It is the haughty son 
Of him whose myrmidons this night have snatch' d 
Your own best treasures shrieking from your arms. 
Turning your hymns and holy prayers to groans. 
Drenching th' unburied dust of him ye lov'd 
With martyr's blood, and waking in your hearts 
The stern, deep cry for vengeance ! 

MIRIAM. 

O my brother ! 
How have such words a place on Christian lips ? 
Hear me, ye upright men ! Bare not your swords. 
The youth on whom ye bend such dreadful eyes 
Is innocent of all -^ except the love. 
The world-forgetting love he cherish'd 

EUPHAS. 

Miriam ! 
Dumb be the shameless tongue that would proclaim 



oO MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

What in a brother's patient love I sought 
To hide from mortal eye ! 



MIRIAM. 

It is too much ! 

My innocence Why do I grow so weak ? 

Wrongly and harshly dost thou judge of me ! 
Oh ! for one breeze of purer, fresher air, 
To sweep away the gath'ring mist that dims 
My failing sight ! 

EUPHAS. 

She faints ! Let me not look 
Upon her lifeless form, lest it awake 
Pity that were a sin ! 

PAULUS. 

How beautiilil 
Ev'n in her deathlike paleness doth she lie ! 
Fairest ! from that kind swoon awake not yet. 
Thy words were love ? — one struggle then for life. 
Meantime, in blest unconsciousness, perchance 
Thou'lt 'scape a bloody sight. — Ye men of peace ! 
I wait my doom. Ye ! who do boast your faith 
A faith of love and peace and charity, 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 39 

Look on the son of Piso, and declare 

If, in his helplessness, your unarm' d foe 

Shall live or die. — Ye pause ? — I am prepar'd. 

Though my young heart, that still beats steadily, 

Be of a softer temper than my sire's, — 

Though the same voice that boldly bids you strike, 

Ofttimes for hours has sued most earnestly 

To my stem father for a Christian's life, — 

Hath bid the fire be quench'd, the tiger chain'd, 

The scarce-believing captive given back 

Ev'n from the grasp of death, to the wild pray'rs, 

The blessings, and the tears of those he lov'd, — 

Yet do I claim no mercy at your hands. 

Do with me as you list — rememb'ring this — 

The blood within these veins is innocent 

As that which stain'd the floor of yonder cave ! 

How ! — with a sudden frown ye wildly pluck 
Your daggers forth ? They gleam before an eye 
That quivers not. — But thou — thou who art yet 
A mild and gentle-hearted boy, arise ! 
Lift up thy buried face, and let me look 
Once more upon its beauty — so like her's, 
Li ail its pale and touching loveliness ! 
Thou stirrest not — I hear thy stifled sobs ! 
Bid'st thou the deed thou dar'st not look upon ? 



40 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

Let him not die ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

He must. 

EUPHAS. 

Oh no ! not thus 
Rehgion asks the service of our hands. 
The spirit of her mild and bloodless laws 
Requires not life for life. Let him go forth. 

PAULUS. 

Boy ! with that word thou hast undrawn the bolts 
That close the deep, dark dungeon on thy sire, 
And loos'd the heavy shackles on his arms. 
For ev'ry idle drop of Piso's blood 
Ye in your wrath and blind revenge had shed, 
One pang the more had wmng those aged limbs. 
But while I live, a blessed hope yet beams 
Upon the dire captivity ye mourn. 

EUPHAS. 

Thou silver-tongued deceiver ! Is it thus 

Thou wouldst escape us ! Think'st thou that because 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 41 

My Christian heart relented at the thought 

Of one lone, helpless victim's blood pour'd forth 

As water in revengeful sacrifice, 

I have become a weak, believing girl, 

All fond credulity and hope ? — Peace ! — peace ! 

When thy deluding accents sound most sweet, 

Most do I dread thy deep hypocrisy. 

There is no hope ! 

PAULUS. 

No hope ! Ye gods ! — my Miriam ! 
To thee and thine how humbly croucheth down 
The lion thou hast tam'd ! 

EUPHAS. 

Nay, let him go ! 
Hence in thy cruel treachery to thy sire ! 
Tell him that other Christians worship yet 
The one pure God within the walls of Rome. 
Bid him plant thick his stakes, to fury lash 
His howling monsters from the wilderness ; 
And, ere the dawn, be sure thy myrmidons 
Seize the forsaker of his helpless sire, 
And let him end his brief and blighted days. 
Withering for hours upon the welcome cross 



42 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

In pangs — scarce worse than those remembrance 

brings. 
Go, get thee hence ! I spare thy wretched life ; 
But on thy brow I pour the utter scorn, 
The deep abhorrence of my soul ! 

PAULUS. 

Wake, maiden ! 
Why is thy fearful swoon so long ! Alas I 
Looking upon thy deathlike loveliness, 
I hear strange, scornful words, and heed them not ! 

EUPHAS. 

Mourneth the whirlwind o'er the broken flow'r ? 
Gaze not upon the ruin thou hast made. 
Go to thy sire, and tell him 

PAULUS. 

Stripling ! hear ! 
That sire hath now no son ! I give myself 
A pledge and hostage for your father's life ; 
And if the morrow's sun bring not your friends 
Back from their dreary dungeon to your arms. 
Let die bright daggers gleaming round me now 
Drink the young blood of Piso's only son ! 
Go thou and tell my father this ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 43 

EUPHAS. 

Roman ! 
I take thee at thy word ! I go ! — Perchance 
Thou wouldst but lead me to the Ron's den. 
But if thy words he craft, and thy designs 
Pregnant with direst mischief to my Ufe, 
It matters not ; for I have that at stake 
Would lead me on through fire and pestilence, 
Famine, and thirst, and keenest agony. 
Fearless and struggling still while*hope remain'd ! 
My father ! what hath earth to daunt mine eye, 
Seeking to gaze once more upon that brow 
I should have died to shield from violence ? 
No ! I have nought below the skies but thee 
And to the wild beast's lair I rush at once 
To save thee, or to die ! — My sister ! — nay ! 
Let me not look on her ! — Oh, who could dream 
Falsehood had crept within a shrine so fair ? 
Let me turn from her, ere the memory 

Of what she was 

My father's friends ! bear ye 
The hostage of our kindred's hves away 
Up to the lonely garden, by the wall 
Where we have sometimes met, and there await 
The answer I shall bring. If when the sun 



44 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Wakes with his first red beam the matin birds, 

I come not yet, nor from the rising ground 

Ye should mark aught approach that tokens good. 

Deem that my father's cell hath clos'd on me, 

That in my youth I am held fit to wear 

The martyr's glorious crown — and that no pow'r, 

No earthly pow'r, can save the friends ye love 

Out of the spoiler's hand. Ye know the rest. 

[Exit. 

PAULUS. 

The rest ! — blood Tudely shed — untimely death — 

And an ignoble grave — are in that word. 

Oh ! for one touch of that high energy, 

That eager spirit thrilhng through each vein. 

That in my days of young renown and pride 

Bore me triumphant in the battle's van. 

Where brightest flashed the swords and thickest flew 

The barbed javelins round my glitt'ring shield ! 

Christians ! ere we go hence, I would but look 
Once more upon her face ! I hear a voice 
Sighing her dirge among yon rustling leaves. 
And calling him whose spirit lived in her's 
Away — away from worldly sin and woe. 
And I would learn from that calm, marble brow 
The deep and blest repose there is in death ! 

[A cloud crosses the moon. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 45 

How ! doth the God she worshipped thus forbid 
The sinner's eye to gaze on things so pure ? 
Pass — shadow — pass ! — a hoUer light than thine, 
Fair orb ! falls on my dark and troubled soul, 
While thus I drink in peace and quietness 

Gazing upon my Miriam's silent face ! 

Ye gods ! methought a sudden quivering ran 
O'er her pale hps and eyelids softly clos'd ! 
She stirs ! — she sighs ! — she looks upon me now ! 
Life — life and light are waking in her eye ! 

• 

MIRIAM. 

Methought once more In dear Judea's land, 

A child by Siloe's gushing fount I sat 

Close by my angel-mother's knee, and heard 

The holy hymns she sweetly sung each night 

Unto our God, while ever and anon 

The quiet murmur of the brook came in. 

Filling each pause with softest melody, 

Even as it was wont, years — years ago ! 

Was it an idle vision of the night ? a trance ? 

Where am I now ? whose dark bright eyes are these 

Gazing upon me thus ? Euphas ! my sire ! 

Where are ye both ? [rising suddenly] Alas ! alas ! 

too well 
I do remember all ! < 



46 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 



PAULUS 

My Miriam ! Dost not 



Remember me ? 



MIRIAM. • 

Peace ! — peace ! that voice — it kills 

Oh ! for the deep and blest forgetfulness 

Where is my brother ? 

PAULUS. 

Am I then so hateful ? 
Wilt thou not hear my voice, although it speak 
Of those 

MIRIAM. 

Tell me, ye men of anxious brow, 
Where is the dark-hair'd boy ? the boy I lov'd 
Ev'n from his cradle better than my life ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

He hath gone forth. 

MIRIAM. 

Gone forth — said ye ? — and whither ? 
Alone — unarm'd ? 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 47 

PAULUS 

Hear from my lips the tale ! 
Up to my father's palace hath he gone, 
Alone — unarm'd 

MIRIAM. 

Enough — enough ! — just God 
Now doth thy wrath fall heavy on my soul ! 

PAULUS. 

Wilt thou not hear what purpose led him forth ? 

MIRIAM. 

I know it — and I pray you, let me pass ! 

PAULUS. 

How ! — whither wouldst thou go ? 

MIRIAM. 

To die ! — with him 

With them ! — are they not both to die ? 

PAULUS. 

Nay — nay ! 
None whom thou lov'st shall die. I bade him say 



48 MIRIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

'^gL MIRIAM. 

How ! was he sent — sent, Paulus ! — and by thee 1 
I will not stay ! loose me ! the air grows thick — 

I cannot breathe ! Alas ! betray 'd — betray'd 

Even into the tyrant's hand ! so young ! 
So good — so innocent — oh, my brother ! 

PAULUS. 

Hear me this once ! Weep, if thou wilt, but hear ! 

MIRIAM. 

I have no pow'r to move. The God who gave 
Hath ta'en away the sinner's wasted strength. 
Say on ; but let my brother be thy theme. 

PAULUS. 

Terror and blank dismay he bears with him 
This night into my father's stately halls. 
Think'st thou the unknown tyrant whom thou hat'st, 
He whom thy sire's deep wrongs have bid thee curse, 
Will feel no shuddering when he hears the tale 
Told by thy brother's lips — perchance ere now ? 
Knowing that by some dark, mysterious chance. 
Fierce Christian swords are closing round my breast. 
Ready with morn's first beam to drink my blood — 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 49 

Thinks't thou, to save this young and much-priz'd hfe. 
He would not give a thousand Christians back 
From their barr'd cells ? — nay — from the lifted cross ? 
Thou know'st him not. 

MIRIAM. 

Paulus ! dost thou believe 
I shall again behold my father's face ? 
Or that the noble boy, whom thou hast sent 
Up to the house of blood and cruel fraud, 
Will ever from that den return unharm'd ? 



PAULUS. 

I am my father's only son, and lov'd 

As only sons alone are ever lov'd. In this 

Lieth my hope. 

MIRIAM. 

Thy hope ! oh God ! — thy hope ? 
Is it no more ? — thou shouldst have been assured, 
Ere thou hadst risk'd a life I hold so dear. 
Oh, why doth trusting woman plant her hopes 
In the unknown quicksands of a stranger's faith ? 
She should love none she hath not known from birth - 
Or look to be deceiv'd — as I have been. 

E 



50 MIRIAM-A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Why dost thou stay me thus ? Lo ! I am call'd ! 
I must be there to close thek eyes ! — Away ! 

PAULUS. 

Hear me, my Mmam ! 

MIRIAM. 

Nay ! 't is past ! Away. 
That voice was once a spell ; — it is all o'er ! 
Why dost thou call me thine ? I have no part 
In thee, nor thou in me ; — and we love not, 
Hate not, and worship not alike. How then 
Can I be thine ? I pray thee, let me go ! 

PAULUS. 

And whither then ? 

MIRIAM. 

I know not ! — Where are they ? 

PAULUS. 

They will be here ere morn. 

MIRIAM. 

Thou think'st not so ! 
Youth ! thou hast learn'd deceit. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM, 51 

PAULUS. 

I bear all this I 
I mark the frightful paleness of thy cheek, .^ 
The wild and wandering glances of thine eye, 
And stifle down my utter agony. 
Oh, what a night is this ! 

MIRIAM. 

Am I so pale ? 
It is thy work — and, for a gentle youth, 
Strange havoc hast thou caus'd — much misery! 
Say'st thou my looks are wild ? It is because 
I linger here with thee, when I should fly 
E'en to earth's farthest bounds. — I will be gone ! 
Aye ! I am weak, but not in spirit, youth ! 
And the rous'd soul hath strength to lift its clay. 
I must behold the boy's dark curls once more, 
And stroke again my father's silver locks. 
And hear their last, last words of pardoning love, 
And learn of them, pure martyrs ! how to die ! 
Think'st thou I shall have pow'r to look on them 
Ev'n to the last, through all their agonies ? 
Or will he graciously let me die first ? 



52 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM 



PAULUS. 



It is too much ! 



MIRIAM. 

Nay, if I haste, he may 1 
Why dost thou hold me ? I am growing strong 
And thou, methinks, art weak ! 

[Bursting from him] Lo ! 1 am free 



PAULUS. 

Will ye not stay her ? I am powerless ; 
Her words have stricken from mine arms their force. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

She hath her task ; strength will be given her. 

MIRIAM. 

Aye, ye say true. I am not wholly left ; 

And like a morning mist from gleaming lakes, 

The cloud is passing from my 'wilder'd mind. 

Youth ! wert thou as they are, ev'n thus 

For thee would I risk all. — If there be hope 

Or consolation in those words, take thou 

One last, fond blessing with them ! — this, at least, 



**.*. 



MIRIAM— A DRAMATIC POEM. 53 

Will sure be pardon'd me. There is a love 
That innocence may feel for sinning friends, 
A love made up of holy hopes, and prayers. 
And tears ! and, Paulus, ev'n such angel-love, 
Living or dying, will I bear to thee ! — Farewell ! 

[Bjcit. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Thou too must hence with us ! 

PAULUS. 

Not yet — not yet ! 

Let me but watch the fluttering of her robe ! 

Alas ! its last white gleam is faded — gone — 
And swallow'd up in darkness, like my hopes. 
My happiness — like all things fair or bright. 
These eyes have ever lov'd to look upon ! 
Lead where ye will. The clods beneath these feet 
Have scarce less life or consciousness than he 
Whose foot is pressing them, with a dull hope 
To share their utter senselessness ere long. 

[Ikeunt. 



54 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 



SCENE II. 

A Hall in the Palace of Fiso. Piso and Euphas. 

PISO. 

Why ! thou hast trusted in thy youth and bloom, 

As if the eye whose lightnings thou hast braved 

Were woman's ! Thou hast yet to learn, fair boy. 

The mower in his earnest task spares not 

The wild-flower in his path. It moves my mirth 

That with such hope thou shouldst have sought my face, 

Intruding on my midnight privacy, 

To pour thine intercession in mine ear. 

Tell me, I pray, didst thou in sooth believe ^^Kf 

Thy boyish eloquence and raven curls 

Might move the settled purpose of my soul ? 

Or is thy life too bitter in the bud, 

That thou hast ta'en a way so sure and prompt 

To nip its blossoming ? 

EUPHAS. 

I know not which. 
But if I had a hope, and it prove false. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 55 

Life were the sternest penalty thy wrath 
Could bid my spirit bear. 

PISO. 

I doubt thee much. 
When the young blood runs bounding through the veins, 
And a strong thought is on the working soul, 
And death goes wandering far and heeds thee not, 
'T is easy then to scorn thine absent foe. 
But if the monster turn upon thee fierce, 
Whisp'ring a sudden summons in thine ear, 
Checking thy youthful pulse with icy touch, 
Flinging an utter darkness on thy hopes, 
Boy ! in that shudd'ring hour — it draweth nigh ! — 
I shall behold thy bright cheek blanch'd with fear, 
And hear thee, in thine agony, implore 
One day — one hour of that same precious life 
Which now thou hold'st so cheap. How thou wilt rue 
And wonder at thine own presumption strange. 
And that insane and idle hope, which gave 
Thee, in thy youth and folly, to my hand. 
Ye gods ! it was most strange ! 

EUPHAS. 

To thee most strange, 
Who of all earthly things alone dost hold 



56 MIRIAM — A DRABIATIC POEM. 

No sympathy with aught on earth. To thee 
There is no power in words that can unfold 
The steady faith and deep, absorbing love 
That brought me here. — I have not yet said all. 

PISO. 

Not all ? Why, that is stranger still. Methought 
Thou hadst run through each supplicating phrase 
Our language knows : and in good truth, although 
The gods themselves are scarce more wont than I 
To hear the voice of pray'r and agony. 
Yet will I own mine ear hath never drunk 
Tones and entreaties eloquent as thine. 
Thou hast said much, fair lad, and said it well, 
And said it all — in vain. — Dost hear ? 

EUPHAS. 

I do. 

PISO. 

Why ! thou art wondrous calm ! 

EUPHAS. 

Thou man of blood ! 
I have not yet said all ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 57 

PISO. 

But by the gods, 
Thou hast ! for I will hear no more this night. 
To-morroWj if I 'm in an idle mood, 
I '11 hear thee — on the cross ! 

EUPHAS. 

I read thine eye. 
That does not honor me with wrath or scorn, 
But marks me with a proud, cold weariness. 
Yet will I utter — what shall bid that eye 
Flash fire ! 

piso. 
Poor fool ! I marvel I have spent 
Ev'n thus much time upon thee. Take him hence ! 
Where are the daring slaves who marshall'd thee ? 

EUPHAS. 

Where is thy son ? 

PISO. 

My son ! — my son ? saidst thou ? 



58 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

Aye ! — where is he 1 thine only son ? — and Paulus, 
I thinkj the name he nobly bears. 

PISO. 

Gone forth 
Upon some reckless revel, haply ; I know not. 
Seekest thou time, that with such idle quest 



EUPHAS. 

I seek thy vulnerable spot. If now 

I fail ! — Know'st thou not audit — ^whither — or how- 



PISO. 

I tell thee, no ! Read me thy riddle, boy ! 
The night wears on, and busy hours are mine 
Ere to my couch 

EUPHAS. 

The couch unvisited 
By sleep this night ! Oh, were it not for those 
Whose lives hang on this chance, I could relent. 
How can I aim so near a father's heart ? 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 59 

PISO. 

This tardiness and would-be mystery 
Portend a mighty tale. Look it he such. 
Why ! what knitted brow and troubled eye ! 
Say on, and hence ! 

EUPHAS. 

Enough ! — Thou hast a son. 
Whose life hangs on a word — a syllable — 
Breath' d from thy lips ! 

PISO. 

Well ! excellent ! go on. 

EUPHAS. 

He is a hostage 'mid an armed band, 
A pledge thou canst not sport with, for the lives 
We came to beg. Give me my father back, 
My father and his friends from yonder cells. 
And thou shalt have thy haughty son unscath'd 
By Christian swords ! But if they bleed 

PISO. 

Say on ; 
I would hear all. 



60 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

If to th' appointed spot 
They come not all — age, youth, and woman — all — 
Ere the red sun shall look aslant the hills 
With its first beam, he dies ! 

PISO. 

And is this all ? 

EUPHAS. 

Aye. Now have I said much — and well — and not. 
Perchance, in vain ! 

PISO. 

Lad, were there but one chance 
Thou e'er might'st profit by the kind advice, 
I would exhort thee, when again thou seek'st 
To save thy life by trick and cunning tale, 
Make thou thy story prohahle ! — Dost hear ? 

EUPHAS. 

How ! dost thou doubt ? 

PISO. 

I should as soon believe thee, 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 61 

If thou assertedst that the ocean waves 
Were dashing high around my palace gates ; 
Or that the thousand Christians I have slain 
Were seeking me along the silent streets, 
Moaning and glimmering in their phantom-shrouds, 

At this lone hour of midnight. Thou art pale : 

In the extremity of fear hast thou 
Devis'd a tale so wild ? 

EUPHAS. 

I may be pale ; 
But re-peruse my brow, and see if there 
Is aught that tokens fear ! 

piso. 

Boy ! there is that 
Within thy pensive eye I cannot meet ; 
I have beheld a face so like to thine. 
Else had our parley shorter been. — Away ! 
I will behold — will hear thy voice no more ! 

EUPHAS. 

Forth to the dungeon must I go ? 

PISO. 

Aye! lad; 
The deepest — darkest ! 

F 



OTi MIRIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

So it be but that 
My father shareth, I care not how dark. 
Darker will be to-morrow's noon to thee, 
Thou childless sire ! 

PISO. 

Can it be true ? I feel 
A cold and sudden shudd'ring in my veins. 
Tell me once more — I know 't is mockery — 
Yet would I hear thy tale again, false boy ! 
My son, thou say'st 

EUPHAS. 

Circled with Christian swords, 
Stands waiting thy behest ! for those, whose friends 
This night have fall'n within thy fatal grasp. 
Now hold thine own proud darling fast in bonds, 
Where rescue or protecting power of thine 
Cannot avail him aught. Revenge thou may'st, 
But canst not save him — but by sparing those 
Whom thou didst purpose for a cruel death. 

PISO. 

And where — in what dark nook 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 63 



EUPHAS. 

Nay, tyrant ! but 
Thou canst not dream that I will answer thee. 

PISO. 

I will send forth my soldiers — they shall search — 
It may be false — but they shall overrun 
Palace and hut, and search each hiding-place 
In all this mighty city, till my son 
Be found ! 

EUPHAS. 

When he is found, that son will be 

Knowest thou what ? Sunrise the hour — Remember. 

PISO. 

Now by the great god Mars ! but thou shalt die 
For this, be thy tale false or true. Till now 
I never felt these firm knees tremble. — Speak ! 
How fell my noble Paulus in the gripe 
Of yonder rav'ning wolves ? 

EUPHAS. 

How came he there ? 
Alas ! — that question hath a dagger's point. 



64 BIIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Man ! I would rather die than answer it ! 

PISO. 

But thou shalt speak, or I will have thy bones 

Wrench'd from their sockets. — Stripling ! — Silent still ? 
Bethink thee, thou art young and delicate : 
Thy tender limbs have a keen sense of pain ! 

EUPHAS. 

In dark thoughts am I lost — but not of that ! 

PISO. 

Answer me ! rouse thee from thy trance ; thou ^It find 
A stern reality around thee soon. 

EUPHAS. 

It is a thought to search the veiy sou] ! 

And yet — so young — she may repent. List, Piso ! 

It is a short but melancholy tale, 

And if my heart break not the while, in brief 

Will I declare how fell thy haughty son 

Into the power of Christian foes. — He sought 

I have a sister — she is beautiful — 
Touched by three summers more than I have seen 
Into the first young grace of womanhood — 
Lovely, yet thoughtful. Oh, my God ! it comes 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 65 

Upon my soul too heavily ! — Proud Roman ! 
Art thou not answer'd ? 

PISO. 

I am. He dies. 

EUPHAS. 

How! 

PISO. 

Ye shall all die. In my mighty wrath 
I have no words — no frenzy now ! 'T is deep, 
Too deep for outward show ! — But he shall die, 
The base, degenerate boy ! 

EUPHAS. 

Thou speakest noW 
In the first burst of fury. 

PISO. 

That my son 
Should love a Christian girl ! Foul — foul disgrace ! 
Fury ! saidst thou ? I am calm. Look on me. 

EUPHAS. 

I see the tiger crouching ere he springs. 



66 MIRIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

I mark the livid cheek — the bloodshot eye — 
Hands firmly clench'd and swollen veins — are these 
Tokens of inward calm ? 

PISO. 

Now am I free ! 
My son hangs not upon my palsied arm, 
Checking the half-dealt blow ! 

EUPHAS. 

Dost thou exult ? 
Oh Heaven ! to think such spirits are ! Wilt thou, 
Piso, indeed forget 



i 



PISO. 

Strange error thine 
To tell this secret, boy ! — I lov'd my son, 
And lov'd nought else on earth. In him alone 
Center'd the wild, blind fondness of a heart 
All adamant, except for him ! and thou — 
Thou, foolish youth, hast made me hate and scorn 

Him whom my pride and love Knowest thou not 

Thou hast but sealed thy fate ? His life had been 
More precious to me than the air I breathe ; 
And cheerfully I would have yielded up 
A thousand Christian dogs from yonder dens 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM, 67 

To save one hair upon his head. But now — 

A Christian maid ! — Were there none other ? — Gods ! 

Shame and a shameful death be his ! — and thine ! 

EUPHAS. 

It is the will of God. My hopes burnt dim 
Ev'n from the first, and are extinguish'd now. 
The thirst of blood hath rudely chok'd at last 
The one affection which thy dark breast knew, 
And thou art man no more. Let me but die 
First of thy victims 

PISO. 

Would that she among them 

Where is the sorceress ? I fain would see 

The beauty that hath witch' d Rome's noblest youth. 

EUPHAS. 

Her's is a face thou never wilt behold. 

PISO. 

I will. — On her shall fall my worst revenge ; 

And I will know what foul and magic arts 

[^Miriam glides in. A. pause. 
Beautiful shadow ! in this hour of wrath 
What dost thou here ? In life thou wert too meek, 



68 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Too gentle for a lover stern as I. 

And since I saw thee last, my days have been 

Deep steep'd in sin and blood ! What seekest thou ? 

I have grown old in strife, and hast thou come, 

With thy dark eyes and their soul-searching glance, 

To look me into peace ? — It cannot be. 

Go back, fair spirit, to thine own dim realms ! 

He whose young love thou didst reject on earth 

May tremble at this visitation strange, 

But never can know peace or virtue more ! 

Thou wert a Christian, and a Christian dog 

Did win thy precious love. — I have good cause 

To hate and scorn the whole detested race ; 

And till I meet that man, whom most of all 

My soul abhors, will I go on and slay ! 

Fade, vanish — shadow bright ! — In vain that look ! 

That sweet, sad look ! — My lot is cast in blood ! 

MIRIAM. 

Oh, say not so ! 

PISO. 

The voice that won me first ! 
Oh, what a tide of recollections rush 
Upon my drowning soul ! — my own wild love — 
Thy scorn — the long, long days of blood and guilt 



I 



MIRIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 69 

That since have left their footprints on my fate ! — 
The dark, dark nights of fever'd agony, 
When, 'mid the strife and struggling of my dreams, 
The gods sent thee at times to hover round. 
Bringing the mem'ry of those peaceful days 
When I beheld thee first ! — But never yet 
Before my waking eyes hast thou appear'd 
Distinct and visible as now ! — Fair Spirit ! 
What wouldst thou have ? 



MIRIAM. 

Oh, man of guilt and woe ! 
Thine own dark phantasies are busy now, 
Lending unearthly seeming to a thing 
Of earth, as thou art ! 

PISO 

How ! Art thou not she 1 
I know that face ! I never yet beheld 
One like to it among earth's lovehest. 
Why dost thou wear that semblance, if thou art 
A thing of mortal mould ? — Oh, better meet 
The wailing ghosts of those whose blood doth clog 
My midnight dreams, than that half-pitying eye ! 



70 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 



MIRIAM. 

Thou art a wretched man ! and I do feel 

Pity ev'n for the suff'ring guilt hath brought. 

But from the quiet grave I have not come, 

Nor from the shadowy confines of the world 

Where spirits dwell, to haunt thy midnight hour. 

The disembodied should be passionless, 

And wear not eyes that swim in earth-born tears, 

As mine do now ! — ^Look up, thou conscience-struck ! 

piso. 

Off! off! She touched me with her damp, cold 

hand! 
But 't was a hand of flesh and blood ! — Away ! — 
Come thou not near me till I study thee. 

MIRIAM. 

Why are thine eyes so fix'd and wild ? thy lips 

Convuls'd and ghastly white? Thine own dark sins. 

Vexing thy soul, have clad me in a form 

Thou dar'st not look upon — I know not why. 

But I must speak to thee. 'Mid thy remorse, 

And the unwonted terrors of thy soul, 

I must be heard — for God hath sent me here. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 71 

PISO. 

Who — who hath sent thee here ? 

MIRIAM. 

The Christian's God, 
The God thou knowest not : He hath given me strength, 
And led me safely through the broad lone streets, 
Ev'n at the midnight hour ! My heart sunk not. 
My noiseless foot paced on unfaltering 
Through the long colonnades, where stood aloft 
Pale gods and goddesses on either hand, 
Bending their sightless eyes on me ! by founts, 
Waking with ceaseless plash the midnight air ! 
Through moonlit squares, where ever and anon 
Flash'd from some dusky nook the red torchlight. 
Flung on my path by passing reveller. 
And He hath brought me here before thy face ; 
And it was He who smote thee even now 
With a strange, nameless fear. 

PISO. 

Girl ! name it not. 
I deem'd I look'd on one, whose bright young face 
First glanc'd upon me 'mid the shining leaves 
Of a green bower in sunny Palestine, 



72 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

In my youth's prime ! I knew the dust, 

The grave's corroding dust, had soiled 

That spotless brow long since. — A shadow fell 

Upon the soul that never yet knew fear. 

But it is past. Earth holds not what I dread ; 

And what the gods did make me, am I now. 

What seekest thou ? 

EUPHAS. 

Miriam ! go thou hence. 
Why shouldst thou die ? 

MIRIAM. 

Brother ! 



piso. 

Ha ! is this so ? 
Now, by the gods ! — Bar — bar the gates, ye slaves 

If they escape me now Why this is good ! 

I had not dream'd of hap so glorious. 
She that beguil'd my son ! His sister ! 



MIRIAM. 

Peace ! 
Name not with tongue unhallow'd love like ours. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 73 

PISO. 

Thou art her image — and the mystery 
Confounds my purposes. Take other form. 
Foul sorceress, and I will baffle thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

I have no other form than this God gave ; 
And he already hath stretch'd forth his hand 
And touch'd it for the grave. 

PISO. 

It is most strange. 
Is not the air around her full of spells ? 
Give me the son thou hast seduc'd ! 

MIRIAM. 

Hear, Piso ! 
Thy son hath seen me — lov'd me — and hath won 
A heart too prone to worship noble things, 
Although of earth — and he, alas ! ivas earth's ! 
I strove — I pray'd — in vain ! In all things else 
I might have stirr'd his soul's best purposes. 
But for the pure and cheering faith of Christ, 
There was no entrance in that iron soul. 
And I Amid such hopes, despair arose, 

G 



74 MIRIAM-A DRAMATIC POEM. 

And laid a with'ring hand upon my heart. 

I feel it yet ! — We parted ! Aye — this night 

We met to meet no more. 

EUPHAS. 

Sister ! my tears 

They choke my words else 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas, thou wert wroth 
When there was little cause ; — I lov'd thee more. 
Thy very frowns in such a holy cause 
Were beautiful. The scorn of virtuous youth, 
Looking on fancied sin, is noble. 

PISO. 

Maid! 
Hath then my son withstood thy witchery, 
And on this ground ye parted ? 

MIRIAM. 

It is so. 

Alas, that I rejoice to tell it thee. 

PISO. 

Nay, well thou may'st, for it hath wrought his pardon. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM, 75 

That he had lov'd thee would have been a sin 

Too full of degradation — infamy, 

Had not these cold and aged eyes themselves 

Beheld thee in thy loveliness ! And yet, bold girl 1 

Think not thy Jewish beauty is the spell 

That works on one grown old in deeds of blood. 

I have look'd calmly on when eyes as bright 

Were drown'd in tears of bitter agony, 

When forms as full of grace — and pride, perchance — 

Were writhing in the sharpness of their pain, 

And cheeks as fair were mangled 



EUPHAS. 

Tyrant ! cease. 
Wert thou a fiend, such brutal boasts as these 
Were not for ears like hers ! 

MIRIAM. 

I tremble not. 
He spake of pardon for his guiltless son. 
And that includeth hfe for those I love. 
What need I more ? 

EUPHAS. 

Let us go hence at once. 
Bid thou thy myrmidons unbar the gates, 



76 MIRIAM — A DRABI AT IC POEM. 

That shut our friends from light and air. 

PISO. 

Not yet, 
My haughty boy, for we have much to say, 
Ere you two pretty birds go free. Chafe not ! 
Ye are caged close, and can but flutter here 
Till I am satisfied. 

MIRIAM. 

How ! hast thou chang'd 

PISO. 

Nay — but I must detain ye till I ask 

MIRIAM. 

Detain us if thou wilt — But look ! 

PISO. 

At what ? 

MIRIAM. 

There, through yon western arch ! the moon sinks low. 
The mists already tinge her orb with blood. 
Methinks I feel the breeze of morn ev'n now. 
Know'st thou the hour? 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 77 

PISO. 

I do — but one thing more 
I fain would know ; for after this wild night 
Let me no more behold you. Why didst thou, 
Bold, dark-hair'd boy, wear in those pleading eyes, 
When thou didst name thy boon, an earnest look 
That fell familiar on my soul ? And thou. 
The lofty, calm, and oh ! most beautiful ! 
Why are not only that soul-searching glance, 
But ev'n thy features and thy silver voice 
So like to her's I lov'd long years ago. 
Beneath Judea's palms ? Whence do ye come ? 

MIRIAM. 

For me, I bear my own dear mother's brow ; 
Her eye, her form, her very voice are mine. 
So, in his tears, my father oft hath said. 
We liv'd beneath Judea's shady palms. 
Until that saintlike mother faded — drooped — 
And died. Then hither came we o'er the waves. 
And till this night have worshipped faithfully 
The One, True, Living God, in secret peace. 

PISO. 

Thou art her child ! I could not harm thee now. 



78 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Oh wonderful ! that things so long forgot, — 

A love I thought so crush'd and trodden down 

Ev'n by the iron tread of passions wild — 

Ambition — pride — and worst of all, revenge — 

Revenge that hath shed seas of Christian blood ! — 

To think this heart was once so waxen soft, 

And then cono;eal'd so hard, that nouoht of all 

Which hath been since could ever have the pow'r 

To wear away the image of that girl — 

That fair, young. Christian girl ! — 'T was a wild love ! 

But I was young, a soldier in strange lands, 

And she, in very gentleness, said nay 

So timidly, I hoped — until, ye gods ! 

She lov'd another ! — Yet I slew him not ! 

I fled ! — Oh, had I met him since ! 



EUPHAS. 

Come, sister I 
The hours wear on. 

PISO. 

Ye shall go forth in joy. 
And take with you yon pris'ners. Send my son, 
Him whom she did not bear — home to these arms, 
And go ye out of Rome with all your train. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 79 

I will shed blood no more ; for I have known 

What sort of peace deep-glutted vengeance brings. 

My son is brave, but of a gentler mind 

Than I have been. His eyes shall never more 

Be grieved with sight of sinless blood pour'd forth 

From tortur'd veins. Go forth, ye gentle two ! 

Children of her who might perhaps have pour'd 

Her own meek spirit o'er my nature stern. 

Since the bare image of her buried charms, 

Soft gleaming from your youthful brows, hath pow'r 

To stir my spirit thus ! But go ye forth ! 

Ye leave an alter'd and a milder man 

Than him ye sought. Tell Paul us this. 

To quicken his young steps. 

MIRIAM. 

Now may the peace 
That follows just and worthy deeds, be thine ! 
And may deep truths be born, 'mid thy remorse. 
In the recesses of thy soul, to make 
That soul ev'n yet a shrine of holiness. 

EUPHAS. 

Piso ! how shall we pass yon steel-clad men, 
Keeping stern vigil round the dungeon gate? 



80 MIRIAM-A DRAMATIC POEM. 

PISO. 

Take ye my well-known ring — and here — the hst— 
Aye, this is it, methinks : show these — Great gods ! 

EUPHAS. 

What is there on yon scroll which shakes him thus ? 

MIRIAM. 

A name, at which he points with stiff'ning hand, 

And eyeballs full of wrath ! — Alas ! alas ! 

I guess too well. — My brother, droop thou not. 

PISO. 

Your father, did ye say ? Was it his Ufe 
Ye came to beg ? 

MIRIAM. 

His life ; but not alone 
The life so dear to us ; for he hath friends 
Sharing his fetters and his final doom. 

PISO. 

Little reck I of them. Tell me his name ! 

[A pause. 
Speak, boy ! or I will tear thee piecemeal ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 81 

MIRIAM. 

Stay! 
Stem son of violence ! the name thou askest 
Is — is — Thraseno ! 

PISO. 

Well I knew it, girl ! 
Now, by the gods, had I not been entranc'd, 
I sooner had conjectur'd this. — Foul name ! 
Thus do I tear thee out — and even thus 
Rend with my teeth. — Oh rage ! she wedded him, 
And ever since that hated name hath been 

The voice of serpents in mine ear ! — But now 

Why go ye not ? Here is your list ! and all, 
Aye, every one whose name is here set down. 
Will my good guards forthwith release you ! 

MIRIAM. 

Piso ! 
In mercy mock us not ! children of her 
Whom thou didst love 

PISO. 

Aye, maid ! but ye are his 
Whom I do hate ! That chord is broken now — 



S2 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Its music hushed ! Is she not in her grave, — 
And he — within my grasp ? 



MIRIAM. 

Where is thy peace — 



Thy penitence ? 



PISO. 

Fled all — a moon-beam brief 
Upon a stormy sea. That magic name 
Hath rous'd the wild, loud winds agam. — Begone ! 
Save whom ye may. 

MIRIAM. 

Piso ! I go not hence 
Until my father's name be on this scroll. 

PISO. 

Take root, then, where thou art ! for by dark Styx 
I swear, 

.^^^. MIRIAM. 

Nay, swear thou not, till I am heard. 
Hast thou forgot thy son ? 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 83 

PISO. 

No ! let him die, 
So that I have my long-deferred revenge ! 
Thy lip grows pale ! — Art thou not answer'd now ? 

MIRIAM. 

Deep horror falls upon me ! Can it be 
Such demon spirits dwell on earth ? 

PISO. 

Bold maiden ! 
While thou art safe, go hence ; for in his might 
The tiger wakes within me ! 

MIRIAM. 

Be it so. 

He can but rend me where I stand. And here. 

Living or dying, will I raise my voice 

In a firm hope ! The God that brought me here 

Is round me in the silent air. On me 

Falleth the influence of an unseen Eye ! 

And in the strength of secret, earnest pray'r. 

This awful consciousness doth nerve my frame. 

Thou man of evil and ungovemed soul ! 

My father thou mayst slay ! Flames will not fall 



84 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

From heaven to scorch and wither thee ! The earth 
Will gape not underneath thy feet ! and peace, 
Mock, hollow, seeming peace, may shadow still 
Thy home and hearth ! But deep within thy breast 
A fierce, consuming fire shall ever dwell. 
Each night shall ope a gulf of horrid dreams 
To swallow up thy soul. The livelong day 
That soul shall yearn for peace and quietness, 
As the hart panteth for the water brooks. 
And know that even in death — is no repose ! 
And this shall be thy life ! Then a dark hour 
Will surely come 

PISO. 

Maiden, be warned ! All this 
I know. It moves me not. 

MIRIAM. 

Nay, one thing more 
Thou knowest not. There is on all this earth — 
Full as it is of young and gentle hearts — 
One man alone that loves a wretch like thee ; 
And he, thou say'st, must die ! All other eyes 
Do greet thee with a cold or wrathful look, 
Or, in the baseness of their fear, shun thine ; 
And he whose loving glance alone spake peace. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 85 

Thou say'st must die in youth ! Thou know'st not yet 

The deep and bitter sense of lonehness, 

The throes and achings of a childless heart. 

Which yet will all be thine ! Thou know'st not yet 

What 'tis to wander 'mid thy spacious halls, 

And find them desolate ! wildly to start 

From thy deep musings at the distant sound 

Of voice or step like his, and sink back sick — 

Aye ! sick at heart — with dark remembrances ! 

To dream thou seest him as in years gone by. 

When in his bright and joyous infancy, 

His laughing eyes amid thick curls sought thine, 

And his soft arms were twin'd around thy neck. 

And his twin rosebud lips just lisp'd thy name — 

Yet feel in agony 't is but a dream ! 

Thou know'st not yet what 't is to lead the van 

Of armies hurrying on to victory, 

Yet, in the pomp and glory of that hour. 

Sadly to miss the well-known snowy plume, 

Whereon thine eyes were ever proudly fix'd 

In battle-field ! — to sit, at midnight deep. 

Alone within thy tent — all shuddering — 

When, as the curtain'd door lets in the breeze. 

Thy fancy conjures up the gleaming arms 

And bright young hero-face of him who once 

Had been most welcome there ! — and worst of all 



86 MIRIABI — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

PISO. 

It is enough ! The gift of prophecy 
Is on thee, maid ! A pow'r that is not thine 
Looks out from that dilated, awful form — 
Those eyes deep flashing with unearthly light — 
And stills my soul. — My Paulus must not die ! 
And yet — to give up thus the boon ! 

MIRIAM. 

What boon ? 
A boon of blood ? — To him, the good old man, 
Death is not terrible, but only seems 
A dark, short passage to a land of light. 
Where, 'mid high ecstasy, he shall behold 
Th' unshrouded glories of his Maker's face, 
And learn all mysteries, and gaze at last 
Upon th' ascended Prince, and never more 
Know grief or pain, or part from those he loves 1 
Yet will his blood cry loudly from the dust. 
And bring deep vengeance on his murderer ! 

PISO. 

My Paulus must not die ! — Let me revolve 

Maiden ! thy words have sunk into my soul ; 
Yet would I ponder ere I thus lay down 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 87 

A purpose cherish' d in my inmost heart, 

That which hath been my dream by night, — by day 

My hfe's sole aim. Have I not deeply sworn, 

Long years ere thou wert born, that should the gods 

E'er give him to my rage — and yet I pause ? — 

Shall Christian vipers sting mine only son. 

And I not crush them into nothingness ? 

Am I so pinion'd, vain, and powerless ? 

Work, busy brain ! thy cunning must not fail. 

[Retires. 

EUPHAS. 

My sister ! thou art spent. 

MIRIAM. 

Not yet ; although 
The strange excitement of my spirit dies, 
And stern suspense is fretting fast away 
The ties which hold that spirit from its home. 
Yet shall I linger till my task be done. 
Look ! on that moody brow what dost thou read ? 

EUPHAS. 

Alas ! no hope. And yet methinks a smile 
Of inward exultation sudden gleams 
Athwart his features, like a distant flash 



88 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Of lurid lightning 'mid thick clouds. My sister ! 
I like it not. 

MIRIAM. 

He marks us watching him, 
And with a bright'ning aspect draweth nigh. 

PISO. 

Children ! go hence in peace, for I have held 

Communion with my own fierce, warring thoughts, 

And there is something there which pleads your cause. 

I cannot live on this dark earth alone : 

I cannot die, if burden'd with Ms blood ; 

I cannot give my brave and only son 

To buy the luxury of my revenge ! 

So ye have won your boon, and I must stake 

My Paulus too on your fidelity ! 

Ye might deceive me ; but I read you well 

Two young, high-minded souls ; — to you I trust 

All that I hold most dear. In peace and hope 

Go hence, and send him home. 

MIRIAM. 

Go hence ! and how ? 
Leaving behind us those for whom we came } 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 89 

PISO. 

Fear not, for they shall follow thee. This hour, 
This instant, will I take myself the way 
That leads down to. their dwellings dark and drear, 
And set them free. 

MIRIAM. 

And we will cling to thee, 
Blessing the hand which breaks a father's chains. 
And thou shalt see our meeting, and rejoice 
To think that thou hast caused such happiness. 

PISO. 

Nay, maiden ! dost forget ? My Paulus stands 

In jeopardy, and ye may be too late ! 

Seek ye my son, while I release your friends. 

EUPHAS. 

Piso ! we cannot sound the depths of guile 
Within that cold and crafty breast ; — but woe ! 
If we should trust, and be deceiv'd ! 

PISO.^ 

How ! do ye wrong me thus ? Can such distrust 
Spring up in youthful hearts ? 



90 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM 



MIRIAM. 



We have good cause 
To doubt a Pagan, when he talks of peace 
Or mercy for his Christian foes. And yet 

piso. 

Ye will go forth — for ye can do nought else. 
It is your destiny. 

MIRIAM. 

We will not dream * 

There can be perfidy so base. We trust. 
And by the confidence of innocence 
Will we disarm thy wrath. 

EUPHAS. 

Nay, sister, more. 
He cannot mock us now, for we still hold 
Our pledge until his promise be redeem'd. 

PISO. 

Then go. If harm betide my son 1 see 

A dull grey light along the east ! — Begone ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 91 

MIRIAM. 

Swear to us first 

PISO. 

What would ye have ? I swear. 
Both by my gods and by the sacred Styx, 
And by the precious blood of that one son, 
That I will take your father and his friends 
From yonder cells, and send them where ye list. 
Before yon stars grow dim ! Is it enough ? 

MIRIAM. 

Alone too must they come. 

PISO. 

Aye, girl, alone. 

MIRIAM. 

And tell them they must seek that lonely spot 
Where we all met three nights ago. 

PISO. 

I will. 

Aught more ? 



92 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

MIRIAM. 

No, nought. And now, when we behold 
The glad procession drawing nigh, with joy- 
Will we release brave Paulus from our thrall, 
And send him back to comfort thine old ao-e. 

o 

And he will shield us from all other harm, 
While we make haste to quit this bloody land, 
Some, for a calmer home on earth — and one. 
For yonder skies ! 

PISO. 

Speed hence ! watch o'er my son. 
And by th' appointed hour ev'n yet your friends 
Shall be with you. Remember, ye are bound 
To loose hira soon as ye descry their train ; 
And bid him borrow wings to fly and ease 
A heart that hath been rack'd for him this night, 
A heart that can be touch'd through him alone. 

EUPHAS. 

Let us depart, though fear and doubt still brood 
Upon our souls. 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas ! we will not leave 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 93 

Such words to rankle in a soften'd heart. 
Piso ! the child of her whom thou once lov'd 
Leaves thee a blessing for the kindly hope 
Thy words have given. Thine be a long old age 
Of calm and penitence — stayed by the arm 
Of him whom I shall see but once — once more ! 

Farewell ! I yield Euphas ! uphold my steps. 

This palace shall be his abode, when I 

Am silent in my grave ! Will he forget 

That there was once a Miriam ? — Lead forth ; 

The air will give me strength ; and we will thank 

Him who hath bid a gladsome light shine in 

On hearts that were a chaos of despair. 

My father saved ! 

piso. 
And I may be deceiv'd ! 
Yet I do trust you. — Haste ! it is the dawn, 
Gleaming through yon arcade, that bids your cheeks 
Look pale, and dims my tapers thus. Depart : — 
If ye should be too late, earth hath no cave 
To hide you from my wrath ! 

[Exeunt, 



94 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 



SCENE III. 

A rising Ground in a deserted Garden^ near the City 
Walls. Paulus, and Christians keeping guard. 

PAULUS. 

I have gaz'd upward on yon twinkling gems 
Until my eyes grew dim ; and then have turn'd 
To look upon the starlit face of things, 
Obscure, yet beautiful, and watched the moon 
Redd'ning 'mid earthborn mists, and verging fast 
To yonder hilly west, each in its turn, — 
Hoping the outward calm of things so fair 
Might sink, as erst, into a troubled breast, 
And breathe their own deep quiet o'er my soul. 
Such things have been — but not for hours like these. 
My brow is wet with dew — and yet burns on ! 
My eye drinks in a placid scene — yet fills. 
Fills to the brim with silent, blinding tears ! 
And my heart beats against my aching breast 
With throbs of agony ! — My Miriam ! 
Thou in thine innocence wilt die I — aye, die 
By a most cruel death ! and I am here, 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 95 

Bound in a strange and vile captivity ! 

'T was the sole hope— -and now I feel, 't was vain ! 

I have no power to thrust the image stern 

Out of my soul — thee, trembling, cold, and pale. 

Bowing thy gentle head with murmur'd pray'rs 

Beneath rough hands that bind thee to the cross. 

Ye gods ! the rest— -the rest ! — let me go mad. 

Ye pitying gods, and so escape the worst. 

Knowledge of that I cannot see, yet know. 

And if, with strength by thrilling horror giv'n, 

I call my wandering fancy home, and chain 

Thought to the present What were death's worst 

pangs, 
Could I but meet him in the battle-field, 
Waving on high my own red-flashing sword, 
Meeting my death-blow in the hottest strife, 
Dying with shouts of victory in mine ears, 
Frowns on my brow, proud smiles upon my lips ? 
Alas ! the death of brutes — vain struggles, groans. 
And butchery, await me here ! 

Ye stars ! 
I watch you in your silent march ! I mark 
How one by one ye kiss yon shadowy hills, 
And steal into the chambers of the west, 
Sinking for ever from my eyes ! — Farewell ! 
I shall not see you rise ! — A few brief hours 



96 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Ye, in your tranquil beauty, shall look down 

Once more upon the spot where now I stand, 

And there behold me not. But ye shall see 

Token of bloody deed — the pure turf stain'd — 

The scabbard haply cast in haste away — 

And boughs strown rudely o'er the darkest spot 

That tells the foul, foul tale of violence ! 

And what of this ? or why, at such an hour. 

Revel my thoughts in idle circumstance, 

Availing nought ? — I know not — I hold not 

The clews that guide my spirit's wanderings ; 

And when they list, wild, dark imaginings 

Arise unbidden ! — 

How ! ye do grow dim, 

Fair stars ! The breeze that fans my cheek 

Freshens with mom ! and yonder glowing moon 

Rests her broad rim upon the distant hills, 

And I descry a cypress, tall and dark, 

Drawn with its spreading boughs against her disk. 

My hours ebb low ! and I will watch no more 

The heavens and earth with dim and aching eyes. 

There is no calm within — and that without 

Makes but a broken image on my soul — 

A faithful mirror once of all things fair ! 

[Sits down on a rock and hides his face with his 
hands.] 

[A long pause. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 97 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Friends ! by which path think ye they will approach ? 

SECOND CHRISTIAN. 

By this. We shall descry them from afar, 
Threading the trees that fringe the river's bank. 

PAULUS. 

I had forgotten my stern guards — until 

Their hollow voices woke me from vain dreams — 

Vain dreams of other days ! — Ye gods, how light ! 

The sky is full of light ! and golden clouds 

Are floating softly in the crimson east — 

Fit homes for those pure, bright-wing' d, angel forms 

Which, Miriam says, do serve her God in heav'n ! 

I hear the gentle stir of waking birds 

Among the boughs that rustle o'er my head ; 

And, motionless as rocks, I dimly see 

The forms of men beneath the shadowinor trees. 

Leaning upon their swords — keeping stern guard 

O'er one poor unarm'd wretch ! — Oh, why have I 

No weapon in extremity like this ? 

[A pause. 
What was that soft, sweet note ? The prelude faint 
To the full matin concert of dad hearts 



98 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Joying to see the mora ! — Aye, there thou go'st, 
Up to the skies, fair bird ! and cleaving swift 
The balmy air with soft and busy wing. 
Thou pourest forth thy soul in melody ! 
I envy thee ! — though I almost forget 
What 'tis that vexes me while thus I watch 
Thine upward flight ! But thou art gone — and I — 
I am on earth, dark earth — and have no wings 
To bear me up to yonder happy realms ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Seest thou aught ? 

SECOND CHRISTIAN. 

Nought but the willow boughs. 
Waving and whispering in the rising breeze. 

PAULUS. 

Ye watch in vain. They will not, cannot come ! 
My own wild hope hath fled ; my heart is sick. 
I hear chains rattling on their youthful limbs ; 
I see them gasping 'mid the dungeon damps, 
Clos'd in with dark strong walls ! They cannot come ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

The hour draws nigh. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 99 

PAULUS. 

Aye, on the river's face 
Vanish the dull red specks, that all night long 
Glimmer'd, in faint reflection of the lamps 
That lit the student's task, the sick man's couch. 
Life wakes throughout the city. — Rome, my home ! 
How beautiful art thou ! — thus stealing forth 

From the deep veiling darkness of the night, 

A wilderness of gardens, palaces. 

And stately fanes ! — I cannot see the roof. 

The one proud roof I seek ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Pagan, I know 
Thou fear'st not death. Art thou prepar'd to die ! 

PAULUS. 

Aye, any death, save that thou purposest. 
Had I a sword • 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Hast thou no need of pray'r ? 

PAULUS. 

Of pray'r? Why should I pray ? Have I not serv'd 



100 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Th' ungrateful gods too faithfully ? Alas ! 
I know not what I say ! — Trouble me not, 
I do conjure thee, Christian ! — Is 't the hour ? 
A mist is on mine eyes. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Not yet. There 's time 



PAULUS. 

god of day ! why are thy chariot wheels 

So slow ? Would that thy earliest beam had pow'r 

To strike me into ashes ! Such a death 

Would have no horrors for a Roman youth. 

But in cold blood Christian ! what seest thou ? 

SECOND CHRISTIAN. 

A wreath of mist that sails along the stream. 

PAULUS. 

1 will be patient. Could I think of aught, — 

No matter what — save her, and this vile death — 
Such death as cowards die ! — Could I but pierce, 
Were it but with one brief and shudd'ring glance, 
The cloudy curtain hanging o'er the grave ! — 
Oh ! new, and strange, and awful, are the thoughts. 
Dim formino; in this whirling brain ! Her words 



w 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 101 

Come thrilling back upon my soul with might 
Most like the might of solemn truth, that wars 
With blind and steadfast prejudice ! — Ha I look ! 
Two forms come gliding yonder 'mid the trees ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

They come ! — What may this mean ? 

PAULUS. 

Alas ! — alone ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

With weary steps and slow the pair ascend 
The hill of blood — for such this spot must be ! 
They are indeed alone ! and grief, methinks. 
Is in their steps ! 

PAULUS. 

She droops ! their pray'r was vain ; 
And my stern father hath forgotten all 
That gave his bosom aught of human touch. 
His hand hath sign'd my early doom ! — Ye gods ! 
Bear witness how I bless that bloody fate. 
Since on the heads of yonder sinless pair 
My father's hand hath wrought no cruel deed ! 



102 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Their safety doth amaze me. 

PAULUS. 

Nay, the gods 
Are sometimes touched by rarest innocence, 
And do by miracle melt iron hearts. 
Slowly they mount — Ha ! hidden by thick boughs — 
Christian ! I do implore thee — do the deed ! 
Spare those mild youthful eyes the sight of blood, 
Forth following the dagger's point ! Be quick, 
And so be merciful ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

A deed so rash 
Would bring down shame upon these silver hairs. 
The sun hath not yet ris'n. 

PAULUS. 

Give me thy sword ! 

[Wi'esting it from him. 

MIRIAM. [Rushing in. 

Oh stay ! When God hath barely giv'n me strength 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 103 

To grasp thy robe, must I behold thy blood 
Shed by thine own rash hand ? We deem it guilt ! 

PAULUS. 

Hath thy God giv'n thee pinions ? Would, oh would 
That I had died before that weary foot 
Had climb'd the hill ! 

MIRIAM. 

Indeed that foot is weary, 
And the frame weak ; and the internal striving 
Of hope, and fear, and haste, hath ht no fire 
Upon this cheek — and I stand hovering 
On the grave's utmost verge. Yet glad, oh glad 
Are the faint throbbings of this heart ! 

PAULUS. 

How ! — speak ! 

ijj^v MIRIAM. 

Doth not my soul speak from my joyous eyes ? 
They come ! for God went with us, and his voice 
Spake to the tyrant's heart. 

EUPHAS. [Entering. 

Aye, they are sav'd, 



104 MIRIAM-A DRAMATIC POEM. 

And thou, young heathen, spar'd for happier days. 

Now haste thee hence in peace, and meditate 

Hereafter, in thy calm and lonely hours, 

Upon this night of strife and agony, 

And on the faith that nerv'd young Christian hearts, 

And on the strange success that crown' d their hopes. 

PAULUS. 

Mortals are ye — and more than mortal pow'r 
Hath wrought in this ! But for my gods — alas ! 
To them I have not pray'd this dreadful night. 
Oh, what is that faith worth which thus forsakes 
Its votary in trial's darkest hour ? 
It might have been that thou hadst softly sapp'd 
My youth's belief — and so it proudly stood 
Until the blast came by — and then it shook. 
My gods ! I could not bear to think of them ! 
Why is my brain so dizzy ? 

MIRIAM. 

Friends, watch still ! 
Soon as ye see our brethren drawing nigh, 
The Pagan must away. Paulus, till then, 
Is it a sin that dying lips should breathe 
Words that pertain to earth and earthly things ? 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 105 

Thy faith I may not hope to shake — and next 
Would I conjure thee never to forget 
The voice, the face, the words, the dying love 
Of her whose warring love and faith have dug 
Her own untimely grave — have worn away 
Her hopes, her nerves, her life, with secret waste. 
Paulus ! forget thou not, in thy proud halls, 
Beneath thy father's smile, in battle-field, 
Or most of all, in the dark solemn hour 
When midnight sheds her spirit on thy soul, 
The words I 've utter'd in those latter days 
Of our wild love, when failing hope, dim fear, 
And a vague consciousness that I must yield, 
Must give thee up to darkness, came to add 
A sad and awful fervor to my words. 
Oh ! it must work — it will ! That memory 
Within thy soul will yet have mighty pow'r ! 
Thou wast not made for base idolatry ! 

PAULUS. 

Beloved ! in this hour of hope and joy 
Why is the thought of death upon thy soul ! 
Why is thy voice more sad than the lone bird's, 
Mourning her wounded or imprison'd mate ? 
Speak of thy faith, love, if thou wilt ; and I 
Will mutely listen still — although farewell 



106 MIRIAM — A DRABIATIC POEM. 

Hang with a wild and melancholy tone 

On every strain ; — but oh, talk not of death ! 

EUPHAS. 

My sister ! thou art pale, weary, and worn ; 
And care hath wrung thy young, elastic soul — 
Wrung out its very energies and hopes ! 
But, in a calmer land, we soon shall find 
Repose, the wounded spirit's balm, and peace 
Shall draw sweet music from thine unstrung mind. 
Thy cheek again shall bloom, thine eye grow bright. 
Beneath thy father's mild approving smiles ; 
Thy seraph voice, ere long, at vesper hour 
Shall fearless wake the hymn or murmur' d pray'r, 
In full communion with fond, faithful hearts ! 
Oh, bright and blessed days await us yet, 
Brighter by contrast with the gloomy past ! 
Dear Miriam, talk thou not of death ! — Alas ! 
That mournful smile ! 

MIRIAM. 

Ye know not, cannot know, 

How surely death has set his mouldering seal 
Upon this brow. Must I not speak of him ? 
He is so near me, that his shadow falls 
Ev'n now across my path. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 107 

EUPHAS. 

Thou art deceiv'd ! 
It cannot be. The sickness of the soul — 
Not of the body — is upon thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

Brother, 
Both ! But 't is long since in the greater pain 
I have forgot the less. What were to me 
The pangs that rack'd my heart and throbbing brain. 
The fever burning in my veins, the ice 
That suddenly, beneath a noonday sun, 
At times congeal'd my blood — while o'er my soul 
A fiercer agony held sway ? — Ere long 
I must depart ; and I but wait a while 
To bear my aged father's blessing hence. 
I would that he might see how peacefully 
The spirit of his child will pass. To him 
That holy sight will rise, in after times. 
Full, full of blessed, calm, consoling thoughts ! 

PAULUS. 

Oh Miriam ! I am here — and soon, thou say'st, 
Must hence. Hast thou no word, no glance, no thought 
For me ? I look upon thee steadily, 



108 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

And read not death on that pale cheek ! — Belov'd ! 

I do conjure thee, talk of life and hope — 

For there is hope — of which thou dost not dream — 

If death come not to dash th' untasted cup 

Into the dust ! 

MIRIAM. 

Of Life and Hope ! Such themes 
Are fittest for the hour of death — and they 
Are in my mind when most I speak of it. 
Euphas ! why dost thou weep ? The heritage 
Of Truth is thine ; thou knowest what death is. 
And that to me it is no thing of fear. 
Thou must not weep ! — But thou — alas, my Paulus ! 
The curse to lose the thing thou lovest most, 
Without one hope, one comfort in thy grief. 
Will soon be on thee ! Thou shalt shortly find 
Where hope is not, 't were better memory 
Might die ! — And yet — forget me not ! Although 
Thou thinkest never to behold ao;ain 
Her thou didst love, in this world — or the next — 
Forget me not ! Though long and proud thy course, 
An hour may come 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

The sun hath ris'n ! 



m 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 109 

MIRIAM. 

Just God ! 

EUPHAS. 

I had forgotten all ! — Oh sinful heart ! 

Look ! Miriam, look, if thou seest aught ! — for me, 

Mine eyes are glaz'd with tears. 

MIRIAM. 

And mine are dim — 
But not with tears. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

There is no sign of life 
Along the river's bank! The sun 

PAULUS. 

'Tis vain, 
Christians, ^t is vain. I knew it from the first. 
How ye two 'scap'd, I know not ; but I know 
This blood must flow. Ye never will behold 
The friends whom ye expect. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

The leopard yet 



110 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Hath never chang'd his spots. Thy sire craves blood, 
The earth craves thine. 

MIRIAM. 

His blood ! v^hat mean thy words ? 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Is not the sun's whole disk above the hills ? 
And I have three fair boys, whom that same sun 
Will watch through torments ere the day be clos'd. 
The murderer's son stands there ! Shall I not strike ? 

MIRIAM. 

Art thou a follower of Christ ? — Alas ! 
Thou pure and gentle One ! who walkedst earth 
Amid earth's bloodiest, sinless ! — from whom 
No shame, no wrong, no agony, could draw 
One word of bitterness, thou hast not left 
Thy spirit in the hearts of all who bear 
Thy holy name. 

EUPHAS. 

The guiUless shall not die. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Are ye Thraseno's children ? Shall your sire 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. Hi 

Hang agonizing yonder on the cross, 
And ye stand here, bending your tearful eyes 
Upon the tyrant's hope and joy ?— Young friends, 
For some dark purpose did he spare two lives. 
But for our other friends — the hour is past — 
They come not — • ye were mock'd — and just revenge 
Leans on that youth and beckons us ! — My boys ! 
My three dear boys ! — He dies ! 



MIRIAM. 



Stay, Jew in heart ! 
What is 't emerges from the grove ? 



FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Ha ! — where ? 



EUPHAS. 

'T is so — I see them plain — a feeble band ^ 
Loos'd from the spoiler's grasp. O Thou on high, 
Whose mighty hand doth hold the proud man's heart, 
Thine be the praise ! 



MIRIAM. 



Down on thy knees, rash man. 
Look on thy bloodless hands, and render thanks 
Where thanks are due. 



112 BIIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

I am condemn'd ! 
And 'mid the joy wherewith I shall receive 
My children to these arms, will shame arise. 

MIRIAM. 

And penitence be born of shame. Haste, Paulus ! 
Thou must away. 

PAULUS. 

Peace ! — peace ! 

MIRIAM. 

The hour is come. 
It was the promise to thy sire 

PAULUS. 

But, maiden ! 
The promise was not mine. It binds me not ; 
And of thy father I have that to ask 
May give a dark mind peace. 

*^ EUPHAS. 

What may it mean ? 
IMiriam, see you the faces of the group ? 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 113 

MIRIAM. 

Oh no ! Whate'er I gaze upon is robed 

In strange and lurid light. The grave's dim hues 

Are gathering fast o'er earth. — Art thou not pale ? 

EUPHAS. 

It may be. Fear and doubt are on my soul. 

Paulus, look thou ! — yon troop come not, methinks, 

Like prisoners let loose, like victims snatch'd 

From agony and death ! No buoyancy 

Is in their steps — no song upon their lips — 

No triumph on their brows ! They pause ! — now closer 

They draw their feeble ranks ! 

PAULUS. 

Grief and dismay 
Are with that group. 

EUPHAS. 

Oh God ! I see him not ! 
My father is not there ! 

MIRIAM. ^" 

Nay, Euphas — stay ! 
Kneel humbly here with me, and pray for strength. 

K* 



114 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Wilt thou forsake me in an hour hke this ? 

[A pause. 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

They come. 
Raise — raise your drooping heads. 

EUPHAS. 

I dare not look. 
[ Christians enter, and the group opening, displays 
the body of Thraseno on a hier.'\ 

p AULUs . l^Springing forward. 
Oh foul and bloody deed ! — and wretched son ! 
That knows too well whose treachery hath done this ! 

AN AGED CHRISTIAN. 

Thus saith the man of blood, — " My word is kept. 
I send you him I promis'd. Have ye kept 
Your faith with me ? If so, there is nought more 
Between us three. Bury your dead, — and fly ! " 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

A ruffian's strangling hand hath grasp'd this throat ! 
And on the purple hp convulsion still 
Lingers with awful tale of violence. 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 115 

Oh, fearful was the strife from which arose 
Our brother's spirit to its peaceful home ! 
Let grief, let wrath, let each unquiet thought 
Be still, and round the just man's dust ascend 
The voice of pray'r. 

PAULUS. 

Not yet ! oh, not quite yet ! 
Hear me, ye pale and horror-stricken throng ! 
Hear me, thou sobbing boy ! my Miriam, turn — 
Turn back thy face from the dim world of death, 
And hear thy lover's voice ! — What seest thou 
In the blue heav'ns with fixed and eager gaze ? 

MIRIAM. 

Angels are gathering in the eastern sky — 
The wind is playing 'mid their glittering plumes — 
The sunbeams dance upon their golden harps — 
Welcome is on their fair and glorious brows ! 
Hath not a holy spirit pass'd from earth, 
Whom ye come forth to meet, seraphic forms ? 
Oh, fade not, fade not yet ! — or take me too, 
For earth grows dark beneath my dazzled eye ! 

PAULUS. 

Miriam ! in mercy spread not yet thy wings ! 



116 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Spurn me DOt from the gate that opes for thee ! 

MIRIAM. 

In which world do I stand ! A voice there was 

Of pray'r and woe. That must have rung on earth ! 

Say on. 

PAULUS. 

Christians ! I must indeed say on, 
Or my full heart will break ! — No heathen is 't 
On whom ye gaze with low'ring, angry eyes. 
My father's blood — his name, his faith, his gods — 
I here abjure ; and only ask your pray'rs. 
The purifying water on my brow, 
And words of hope to soothe my penitence — 
Ere I atone my father's crimes with blood. 

[Silence. 
And will none speak ? Am I indeed cast off — 
Rejected utterly ? Will no one teach 
The sinner how to frame the Christian's pray'r. 
Help me to know the Christian's God aright. 
Wash from my brow the deep-red stains of guilt ? 
Must I then die in ignorance and sin ? 

MIRIAM. 

O earth ! be not so busy with my soul ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 117 

Paulus ! what wouldest thou ? 



PAULUS. 



The rite that binds 
New converts to your peaceful faith. 

MIRIAM. 

Good brethren, 
Hear ye his pray'r ! Search ye the penitent, 
Bear him forth with you in your pilgrimage, 
And when his soul in earnest hath drunk in 

The spirit of Christ's law, seal him for Heav'n ! 

And now —would that my chains were broke ! Half- 
freed 
My spirit struggles 'neath the dust that lies 
So heavy on her wings ! —Paulus, we part. 
But oh, how different is the parting hour 
From that which crush'd my hopeless spirit erst ! 
Joy — joy and triumph now 

PAULUS. 

Oh, name not joy. 

MIRIAM. 

Why not ? If but one ray of light from Heav'n 
Hath reach'd thy soul, I may indeed rejoice ! 



118 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

Ev'n thus, in coming days, from martyrs' blood 
Shall earnest saints arise to do God's work. 
And thus with slow, sure, silent step shall Truth 
Tread the dark earth, and scatter Light abroad, 
Till Peace and Righteousness awake, and lead 
Triumphant, in the bright and joyous blaze, 
Their happy myriads up to yonder skies ! 

EUPHAS. 

Sister ! with such a calm and sunny brow 
Stand'st thou beside our murder'd father's bier ? 

MIRIAM. 

Euphas, thy hand ! — Aye, clasp thy brother's hand ! 

Ye fair and young apostles ! go ye forth — 

Go side by side beneath the sun and storm, 

A dying sister's blessing on your toils ! 

When ye have pour'd the oil of Christian peace 

On passions rude and wild — when ye have won 

Dark, sullen souls from wrath and sin to God — 

Whene'er ye kneel to bear upon your pray'rs 

Repentant sinners up to yonder heav'n. 

Be it in palace — dungeon — open air — 

'Mid friends — 'mid raging foes — in joy — in grief — 

Deem not ye pray alone ; — man never doth ! 

A sister spirit, ling'ring near, shall fill 



♦ 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 119 

The silent air around you with her pray'rs, 
Waiting till ye too lay your fetters down, 
And come to your reward ! — - Go fearless forth ; 
For glorious truth wars with you, and shall reign. 

[Seeing the bier. 
My father ! sleepest thou ? — Aye, a sound sleep. 
Dreams Aat^e been there — oh, horrid dreams! — but 

now, 
The silver beard heaves not upon thy breast, 
The hand I press is deadly, deadly cold, 
And thou wilt dream, wilt never suffer, more. 
Why gaze I on this clay ! It was not this — 
Not this I reverenc'd and lov'd ! 

My friends. 
Raise ye the dirge ; and though I hide my face 
In my dead father's robe, think not I weep. 
I would not have the sight of those I love 
Too well, — ev'n at this solemn hour, too well, — 
Disturb my soul's communion with the blest ! 
My brother, — sob not so ! 



DIRGE. 



Shed not the wild and hopeless tear 
Upon our parted brother's bier ; 



m 



120 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

With heart subdued and steadfast eye, 
Ohj raise each thought to yonder sky ! 

Aching brow and throbbing breast 
In the silent grave shall rest ; 
But the clino-ino; dust in vain 
Weaves around the soul its chain. 



Spirit, quit this land of tears, 
Hear the song of rolling spheres ; 
Shall our wild and selfish pray'rs 
Call thee back to mortal cares ? 

Sainted spirit ! fare thee well ! 
More than mortal tongue can tell 
Is the joy that even now 
" Crowns our blessed martyr's brow ! 

EUPHAS. 

Paulus, arise ! 
We must away. Thy father's wrath 



PAULUS. 



Oh, peace ! 
My Miriam, — speak to us ! — She doth not stir ! 



MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 121 

EUPHAS. 

Methought I saw her ringlets move ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Alas ! 
'T was but the breeze that lifted those dark locks ! 
They never will wave more. 

EUPHAS. 

It cannot be ! 
Let me but look upon her face ! — Oh God ! 
Death sits in that glazed eye ! 

FIRST CHRISTIAN. 

Aye, while we sung 
Her father's dirge — across the young and fair 
I saw death's shudder pass. Nay, turn not pale. 
Borne on the solemn strain, her spirit soar'd 

Most peacefully on high. 

Chasten'd ye are, 
And bound by sorrow to your holy task. 
Arise, — and in your youthful memories 
Treasure the end of innocence. — Away, 
Beneath far other skies, weep — if ye can — 
The gain of those ye lov'd. 



122 MIRIAM — A DRAMATIC POEM. 

EUPHAS. 

Lift this fair dust. — 
My brotlier ! speechless, tearless grief for her 
Who listeneth for thy pray'rs ? 

PAULUS. 

My mind is dark. 
The faith which she bequeath'd must lighten it. 
Come forth, and I will learn. — Oh Miriam ! 
Can thy bright faith e'er comfort grief like mine ? 



THE END. 



..L'BRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 597 407 8 



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